Stomach churning, stiff neck,
Sunday funday sunday sad day.
Grey echoes in the air,
Lonely yet needing to be alone.
Speaking through closed doors,
The world pries with shadowy fingers.
Nothing is wrong. Everything is wrong.
Don’t ask, please.
I don’t have the reasons, and you don’t have the answers.
A voice within a voice within a voice,
Can you hear my silence?
and don’t ask me.
STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT
Can’t you see you’re making it worse?