Bleak colours.
The one's I love to wear.
The darkness around the room, the blanket I hide under.
The shadows of memories,
The one's I write about.

I hadn't a poor memory,
Just a sad mind trying to forget
The haunting stories I can't shake.
Always tiptoeing around the abandoned hallways with old images of me.
The mask I wear because the real face is hard to form.
Tight lips. Deep eyes. Low voice.
Cold skin. Dry eyes. Screaming inside.

Tell me what I...