I've seen through the holes of an empty person.
Striking difference in it, it's terrible
in many different ways I can't explain with a voice.
The feeling of alone isn't something you can imagine,
it's not the scratching of a surface paper, nor the
watching of withering flowers in autumn, but the
grey clouds passing by and you're in the middle of the
hollow trees. An echo would sound through,
and as you look up, it's just your own fight's screech.
When nobody's there anymore, and you don't know
where to turn to when you're happy, sad, or angry.
When happy festivals, seasons and occasions are all
scattered into the calender, and you don't have a clue
how you should even begin to celebrate it.
You'd look out the dusty window, and a typical family passing by.
Eyes filled with envy, jealously, as your eyes give in to the
never-ending fight against the loneliness inside you.