Scarlet tears.
     All shed alone in the darkness with no one to hold your hand.
Empty.
     The numbess can be so invinting and, ironically, invigorating.
Crimson regret.
     If you could cry a thousand tears for all the regrets in your life, would you have enough?
Black.
     The pages are a void and the ink has run out.
Broken.
     You can't even write anymore; your hands shake so much.
Insanity.
     Slowly eating away what humanity is left.
Hope.
     Not all clouds have silver linings.
Silence.
     Screams no one can hear.
Turmoil.
     An endless war with yourself.

What does it matter?
You always lose.
Why fight the current when you can just ride.
Why have an opinion when you can agree.
What is the point of being an individual in a world of conformity?
Why choose to be an outcast?
Why...why...why...

Why does a husband beat his wife?
Why does a mother kill her child?
Why does a daughter sell her body?
Why does a son poison himself?

No one ever has an answer.