It lives in lonely, restless, quiet nights with no one to talk to;

    In physical imperfections screaming from reflections in the mirror.

It lives in the guilty, weak, hollowness of succumbing to temptations;

     In the aftermath of anger inflicted cruelly on innocent others.

It lives in the loss of someone who is the center of your small orbit

     And in the helplessness of your own looming mortality.

It lives in the heaviness of life for every depressed soul suffering in vain.

It lives in me.