Pointless conversations occupy our time. I draw to fill the void, draw myself in a dark room with a straight jacket on waiting for the one with the keys to set me free. My heart grows cold with every nurse that enters, then leaves, leaves me to rot in that dank padded cell. I cry myself to sleep in the corner as the lights dim. I want to die, so I won't feel the pain anymore, the pain of loneliness. I wake to see someone new, she gives me hope, she will be the reason I want to live. She talks to me and comforts me, despite the fact I am rithing in pain from the jacket that now binds ever tighter, I don't care. She sees me ever so often, when she isn't busy with others, makes me smile, first time in eons. I wake once more to see her with someone else, it tears me apart, but she assures me there is nothing between them, I keep hope for my freedom, to see her while I am not in the room. I want to be with her, there is nothing wrong with that, and I feel like I am perfect for her, but because I am restrainted and locked away, she doesn't want me. Do I keep hope, for something, or do I go back to slowly dying, waiting for no one to come for me. I can die, it is just a drawing, something I see on paper and make up an elaborate story, to relate to my life, everything we do will, our choices, our attitude, everything. But how do you feel when you don't know what to expect.
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I know what this is talking about. That's where I am.