deathly quiet

rage is easily vented. depression is overwhelming and therefore takes care of itself as painful as it may be. emptiness is bizarre and quietly horrifying.

where does this gnawing stillness come from and what am i to do with it?

what dark corner has my personality or true self crawled into and who is this shell that i watch dully walk through my life for hours or days at a time?

those are important questions.

perhaps we can entice someone from the murkiness within to answer them.

perhaps not tonight.