The Mind races,
it's in turmoil,
There are too many empty spaces,
within that twisted coil.
The body twists and turns,
as a result of restlessness.
The thought of happiness burns,
upon the flesh, as a nasty boil.
The ears are enclosed,
in an atmosphere of no voices.
The lips have composed,
a silent song of no noises.
Stillness looms around,
and an eerie emptiness forms.
Deafening silence is abound,'
but the mind has to make choices |
Submission Name: Deppression
