Unrest written on the walls,
a restless sadness sewn into your marrow.
From composed to utterly anxious in a manner of seconds,
wading through nothing but pure darkness.
Madness, they used to call this.
Carrying past lives around like the photo of a dear departed lover.
The burdens of your ancestors, kings, queens, slaves, grandparents and parents – all the same,
rushing through you, blurring your senses,
buried in your very essence.
Search deep down and you can find it,
drag it out from the great abyss.