DEMON W GŁOWIE

The damp air of anxiety, mixed with the smell of cheap tobacco and memories that are too painful to keep silent about. Everything around seems to be moving, but from the inside it's like a freeze frame: the sea is stormy, and there is only one person standing on the shore. Every line sounds like a cry between fatigue and anger, like a desperate way to stay afloat when friendship is the only anchor. There is no place here for beautiful facades and other people's advice; there is only the naked truth, nervous laughter through panic attacks and a promise to oneself not to repeat someone else's death.