22

I've gone rogue. I have no idea what I'm doing. Lost equates freedom here, in the boundless bowels of my own imprisonment. That doesn't even make sense. I am so scared. I am so alone. I am experiencing euphoria.
The sun never sets but my eyes are never open, or is it the other way around? I built myself a house of glass but it's double-paned and made of mirrors. You are not invited in yet.
Sometimes flowers blossom in the pits of Hell, but I cannot afford you absorbing any of my light. I want to be here. Without you. I want to be lost. I want to be afraid. I want to figure it out. I want to see if this flower survives.