Poezja

When It's dark and no one is there. I can scream loud and hear my own echo in the air. When It's silent and it gets cold. I get the chills of desperation and morose. Sicken by surrenders and dying from slanders. My soul could not bare anymore disasters. But in my heart I pry for charity and advocacy. But like most family and friends they dont pay attention to me. If so they would know that hiding away Is the speculation of alone.