Lost, confused, frustrated.

Alone, tired, hungry.

Cold, dark, disappointment.

A fragmented shell of my existence. My mirror now red with blood and I awake with slashed knuckles from the night before. Open bottles show a failed attempt at quieting the deafening silence which surrounds me.

Birds sing at weddings, and at funerals - Who sings when they pass?

It has come to money over life. Paper > blood. Green > Red. Where did we lose ourselves? When did we forget about each other? How do I care?