From the inside looking out, I see so many things

I don't like. My cell is cold, empty and yet

peaceful. There is no one to talk to but myself.

The walls feel the wrath of my anger.

I am saddened by the thought of being alone,

yet it comforts me at the same time.

Everyday I go out t face the same obstacles, obstacles

which seem like such childish petty things to others.

My life goes on appearing normal to those

who care once in a while.

The same questions haunt me everyday, "Is there

a point to my life? Will I ever find a true

friend? Is there someone somewhere

who cares about me, for me?"

Each day drags on to the next,

taking me with it without permission.

People may say everything will turn out

fine, I'm glad someone believes that.