We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger When we finally meet are end we are just ink in and old journal The many trials we overcome drift away to sea All the good are lives have carved into the earth is washed away Instead only the mistakes remain

Why do I just feel so low? It’s as if I’m living, but it’s the worst version of myself. If I were a night I would be one with no stars. If I were a day I would be a cold one in November. I try to put on that pretty smile. And so I paint myself with makeup and put on my best outfit. The truth however is, I am dying inside Slowly losing my energy.