Inside. I’m not sure.
I can’t help.
I know it’s there.
I’m foggy and hurt, stranger in my home.
Pain enters my nerves like poison.
Blue sky’s I never see.
Just a window and a bed.
I’m never seeing another children’s head.
They. They. Saying another day.
I’m not sure there is one.
The Enigma Garden 
This produces such a harrowing ache within the reader, masterfully done with fragmented line breaks and strong diction. Amazing write.
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Oh thankyou! I’m glad you liked it.
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