If I had known that, I would also be alone; alone inside my head, where thoughts would circulate like the blood inside my body between my ribs. Also between my lips, where words would no longer flow.
There were now only my eyes with nowhere to look, no more beauty to absorb because inside my head, so many things crowd the memories I had attempted to build. And I think; I think that: I am still here.
Anger sits, between my ribs. I am still here watching my blood switching from red to blue, as if it is a habit. Automatically I scream hopelessly from the outside. Hopeless on the inside. Help me. I want to get out from here desperate on the outside.
Those who surround me, strangers, do not see. They turn a deaf ear, since it is but my loneliness following me everywhere. Maybe a year, maybe even longer, I am still here. My anger, I keep it, there is no exit from the outside. Here is not near.