Alone in the room, speaking all the emotions,
Because this day I'll go out and tell the Hell story to everyone.
This never happened.
I've shouted and cried and spoke all the thoughts eating me to the walls,
As I step out,
I'm not sorrowful, I feel nothing.
I want to say, but those words have lost the pain,
Don't know if the walls soak it,
but I can't utter a word because I'm tired.
Thoughts make me bleed inside,
I really want to say, I want them to know,
I can't because with people I feel nothing,
'Introvert' is such a heavy word.
But that's what a writer is...
Writer's words are unspoken,
Written not with beautiful ink,
but with valuable words...