D.E.A.D.

I cannot escape the abyss. I kept looking for a way to be productive outside of my emotions. Now all I have is chores, chores, and more chores. Sterile, obsolete, isolated. I just want to cry. I walk in a perpetual minefield. Every step can blow me to bits. But I must find a place where I can rest. Can't stop moving. Hell upon hell. My sins are untold. But the price remains the same. No one to touch. No one to hold me. A ghost.