Some days it seems unbearable, some days it doesn't bother you at all.
All the rotting from the inside, physically, mentally, whole exhaustion.
Consumed by emptiness, never an air of honesty.
No, not even to the ones closest to whatever.
What difference does it make?
It's not a cry for attention, there wasn't even an intention at all.
All but blank, even more and more unawareness.
What an actor, what an actor.
Fooling even the conscious.
But the subconscious remains silent.
Unwilling to speak the truth, the subconscious realises the real horror from within.
But no, not yet, not this moment, not until the gleam of light emerges again.
Until then, the emptiness shall consume.
But why? Why does it even exist?
It was always there? really?
Of course it was.
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