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{"The tornadoes rampaging in my soul are mediocre and they clash whenever I get emotionally unstable.Emotionally desperate for the love you can’t offer. 
That alone makes me question my worth, the whispered dilate and prosperity as I inspect myself as a crime scene rather than a human full of cacophony, and emotional withdrawal. 
They are the mere resemblance of what I might have become, too peaceful to adjourn as I mute my screams, but too vociferous inside of my cranium. 
Appalling, Isolation is cessation, and maybe I have adjourned towards my demise unknowing of the consequences as was loving you. 
The isolation regained itself and camouflaged with reality. 
You hid me away like a confidential glory, like an entity that has no worth as I have swallowed the riots bubbling up against my throat all my vitality. 
Only then did I wonder why I hadn’t been exposed to real sentiments. You would caress my temple and whisper inaudibly that they would make me miserable all their life. You hadn’t wanted me to experience pain but you didn’t permit me to thwart them away either. 
The world is destructive and hazardous, you repeat and recite as if it were your prayer,
I recited along you, that the world was indeed dangerous, 
Yet reality smacked me in the face that the only individual whom killed me was you, inside out.
There are people whose insides crumble like a crime scene and all the people who so-called love them can do is gaze at them through vacant eyes. 
Murder, isolation is death, hadn’t you ever known? 
Those youths meddled away into the arms of the tornado and allowed it reluctantly to sweep them up like they were the bride. The fog of smoke after the destruction they inhaled into their lungs and confiscated hadn’t bothered them no more.
They were the reflection of a catastrophic disaster and all everybody could do was watch them end in their demise.
The end.}
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