Unborn (31/01/25)

The life around me is grey, the colour, the feeling. Still but not lifeless. Not lifeless at all, infact its all around me, never able to penetrate my skin. The whole "alone in a crowded room" plight. Monotonous, pointless, trite. Shouldn't I be on the brink of creative genius, are the best artists not born from melancholy. 

I am not born. I am consumed. 

(thank you for reading ʚ♡ɞ)