let me set this up for you:

you are in a room. black walls, no windows no doors.
about as big as a closet, but at the same time as expansive as the town you live in.

there's a light, but you can't tell where the fuck it's coming from.
maybe it's coming from you.

maybe not.

you're hungry; starving, and it's cold enough to make you wish you had a blanket. alas, you don't.

there's hopelessness pervading the air you're having such a hard time breathing.

you're sitting in one of the corners, knees pulled up to your chest, your lungs spasming with the force of your tears.

you wonder with all of your might how the hell you landed yourself here,
and the only answer you can provide yourself with, is you.

you did this. you fucked this up. you are the only reason you feel this way.

and you wait for someone to tell you otherwise but the answer you're fishing for never bites. it slips away from you, evading your efforts to catch it. it doesn't want you no matter how much you wish you had it.

you're confused, hungry, cold.

you're almost dead even though you know you can't die.


an: welcome to the inside of my head.