Do you hear that, it’s quiet. No talking, no yelling, no hints of a riot. The landscape looks warm to the bare naked eye. The truth is it’s cold, I think I might die. I whisper for help, no one responds. The ties to that life are just broken bonds. A struggle grows, it’s internal and hot. It’s hard to decide what it is, what it’s not. Sleep doesn’t help because sleep isn’t real. Sleep barely masks all the pain that I feel. Time will help, patience is key. I need to time travel back to be me. This moment still quiet, space still confined. I’m all alone, just me and my mind.