Surrounded by white giant walls that always seem to be there,

I feel safe.

There’s also my closet, face first towards me, that stares me down to sleep, every single night.

The brownish color of the wood always manages to keep me sheltered, and safe from harm,

But the horror is always looming, and the comfort isn’t always around, and the beautiful color won’t be there to always hold my arm.

This makes me realize that I’m all alone, and it is pretty sad, but I try to stay positive, and I never get mad.

However the loneliness gets intense, and it tangles me in its web of isolation.

It’s okay though, I can always reminsice of the older times, where I had a hint or a notion, of longing to belong to someone, anyone.

I don’t feel safe, and I don’t think I will be for long.

All I can do is hope for a chime, signaling enough passage of time, to a point where I won’t be all alone.

I wish it is not something set in stone.

Isolation kills.