The sky is not just overcast, it’s grey. The dreary atmosphere extracting everyone’s soul. Each fibre holding it to you is torn. One by one. Slowly it stretches and strains, until snap! And it begins again, and again and again
Lucky for me, where my soul should be; there is just despair. A hole where no light reaches.
No joy. No anger. Just pain.
The lower the lows, the higher the highs; or at least they say. I close my eyes to escape. To pretend that there is bliss, that the pain is just my mind playing tricks on me.
The truth is inescapable. I’m not where I want to be.
Alone. Broken.
It’s just me now.
HP KOTECHA 