It's dark, prisoner of my own mind. A long night, a long day, whistle continuously in my ears, remembering, thinking, dreaming hurts my stomach, a continuous sensation of throwing up is in my throat. I've become a beast inside my own mind, a prisoner of things that never happened. All the beauty has become darker than it already was. It hurts so bad seeing me on this other side, here alone, with my thoughts, with my nights and my dark days. This story doesn't have an ending, it's the sickness of the soul, the sickness. Blurred and faded, dead, motionless, a scream of the impossible, a soundless voice, untouchable path. The funeral of all that is left, the death of all that is alive, no shades, just dark, no flicker of life, no glance of light. Broken, drowned in blood, fake and useless, dust in the wind.