19/3

So cold.
It's so cold in here.
Like the edge of existence.
Thinking,
when nothing makes sense.
Listening,
to the repetitive tunes.
Yelling,
white walls staring back.
Sitting,
on a chair.
Desperately lifting.
To no avail.
Hoarded by endless possibilities.
Aren't they pointless.

Tell me,
tell me,
it won't be in vain.