In dark hours, I survived, being nyctophile,
Afraid of sunshine, darkness gave me bosom,
Being alone not a worry, no longings, no fake smile,
Soon realized void expand, veins flooded with venom.
Then I start feeling alone even in crowd,
Air often brought whispers, incised my torn heart,
Tired days, insomniac nights, I cried out aloud,
But moon denied to see my scars, rips soul apart.
Then food stopped giving me any taste, any aroma,
Fingers pointed tastebuds and poor olfaction,
Tears concealed, feel choked, they call it trauma,
Steep jawline, pitted eyes, bone showed rarefaction.
Wish I hadn't chosen the escape, the death,
Wanna travel back, wanna connect again with breath.