As I lay here, the ever so constant and lingering pain in my chest desperately longs to rid of the cold ache, infamously known as loneliness. My pillow holds up a troubled mind, as my blankets keep my loneliness warm. A deep hard, but held back feeling of escaping emotions stays not far from my mouth, but stays in the place that bears all pain, anger, and lost lonely sanity. Another shed of my tears does nothing, for no one knows of my cries or misery, leaving me with nothing but dehydrated eyes. Why should one have to feel such a desperate longing for completion? For it is not a great thing to have to look forward to
