What has this come to?
This burning, this yearning, this ache. This feeling of stillness, of nothingness. This hollow hole residing deep in my flesh. Thought I could trust him but they all end up being the same, me being the option. My inner sense of self depleting.

What has this come to?
This non -existent future, this barren soil laid down to harvest from. These walls restricting, restricting… and they wonder why I struggle to breath.

What has this come to?
The past so vibrant, a distant memory it may seem. Those happy times, times where crisp air flowed freely and tomorrow was a million years away.

Though this is now. This is how the rest will be.