I'm pretty lost in becoming all this frost. Bitter, like Winter. Strung-out like a string of pearls.

I'm falling apart, one part after another. Falling down on the world like snow. Half of me is already on the ground, watching from below.

It's always almost Autumn, down here at Rock Bottom.

The parts of me that hurt the worst want me to write something for them, but I can't. I don't know what to say. I'm lost in all this sadness, and so are they.

We may seem fine, even when the pain remains right there beneath our surface.

You know all that sympathy that you feel for an abused child who suffers without a good mom or dad to love and care for them? Well, they don't stay children forever. No one magically becomes an adult the day they turn eighteen. Some people grow up sooner, many grow up later. Some never really do. But just remember that some people in this world are older versions of those same kids we cry for.