Under the glimmer of stars, the light in my eyes feel duller each and every day.

In my lonesome, I space out and feel indifferent to the silence. Simply existing in what feels like an inescapable box.

In the mirror I sometimes stare at what could've been, wish I could've done more, been more, and I carry a mountain of pains and pity's for myself despite the fact I feel I deserve no sympathy neither because it's my own undoing.