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Description
The gloomy haze of days spent alone is known to so few (No I can’t help you).
A poetical conscious is nonsense in light of my plight writing by lamplight in the night words flow out of me like birds bound for the sea.
I depress, express, repress my stress. Can I convey, try to relay, the space betwixt see and say there is a strong delay from dying to death until there is no, not, nothing left.

Description
The gloomy haze of days spent alone is known to so few (No I can’t help you).
A poetical conscious is nonsense in light of my plight writing by lamplight in the night words flow out of me like birds bound for the sea.
I depress, express, repress my stress. Can I convey, try to relay, the space betwixt see and say there is a strong delay from dying to death until there is no, not, nothing left.