there is a dead end in front
decorated with leaking garbage bags
and fast food cups without lids

walls of aged red brick
engraved with moss
and preying vines

the only seat here
is the cold concrete on your thighs
because you thought shorts were a good idea

your discomfort
dictates your body
turning your choices into reactions

your energy is lost yet trapped
by nothing
by your own emptiness

and the pain in your chest
is the only thing needed
to keep you lying in bed

you want to forget every moment
and every possibility for hope
because there isn't any

and the worst part
is i don't think this is an illusion of the mind
it's reality painted by attempts and failed problem solving

you can no longer reach out to who you need
out of fear
because you already know the suggestions

you're tired of trying to tell them
what the alley looks like
and where it is

you're afraid they will retreat
because you speak in paragraphs
instead of sentences

so you decide to stay there
until a new world comes
or you rot in your own solitude