It’s lonesome through these glass doors.

You could scream all day and the obscurity does not fade.

Suicide is just a prerogative.

Why are you still here? Entangled flesh infused cryptic.

Haven’t you tried every detrimental activity within your accessibility?

You think you need aid but your conviction is unresolved.

Maybe you have been given the wrong prescription of reasoning so quit.

The taste of ash within the throat; cold bitter aftertaste.

Akin childhood memories; Haze of the forgotten.
As innocents we couldn't articulate the trauma that was imposed.

The revelation of scars never fades hides or resolve.

They run deep with uneven edges, penetrating every fortress, facade and flesh.

It gnaws mercilessly at the back of your head, like a bullet ingrained in your brains; No sympathy or empathy.

So how do you begin to heal when you have evaded?

Invalid.