Empty

I languish, a spectator to my own anguish. Despite the words i write, the tales i read, a sense of emptiness, a constant dread.

A sea of worries churns within, a silent storm beneath my skin. The stillness around me, deafeningly loud. As i watch myself, lost in the crowd. 

Yearning for motion, for purpose for light,
But bound by chains of sorrow, endless night. 

Moira,