Whispers

A small cold room. An isolated cold room filled with nothing but whispers. The whispers that only let you hear and understand them at the most inappropriate times. The times where I feel just as cold as the room I am standing in. They feed off my hurt, and my tears. As long as those thoughts feed me, I’ll reluctantly continue to feed them. I try to leave. I crave to leave, and yet every time I grow weaker. The weaker I am, the less I fight, and the more the whispers eat and grow stronger. Will I ever get away and be warm in a large world? Or will I become just a cold, small whisper, alone in this room.