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A life without departure is an eye that sees but cannot close, trapped between reality and dreams. Tears fall, but no one wipes them away - they remain as a reminder of captivity in the same cycle.
A life without departure is a jaw that plunges but does not free. Pain becomes habit, and questions echo in the void: "Who will drink our tears tomorrow?"
A life without departure is spoiled milk, still drunk out of fear of new flavors. A pacifier, no longer for a child, carried as a symbol of immaturity.
A life without departure is a heart that beats, but remains exposed and vulnerable, imprisoned by ribs that should protect it.
A life without departure is a mouth that wants to scream, but its voice is choked. Teeth decay from silence, from words never spoken.
A life without departure is a fish in a glass bowl, dreaming of the ocean, yet always swimming in the same circles, trapped in illusion.
A life without departure is a key held by a tendril - desire to move forward, but each attempt is met with greater obstacles.
A life without departure is a question without an answer: "What anger did you imagine today?" - when each day is the same, and every change is just another version of imprisoned existence.
A life without departure is not pink. It is a picture that wants to escape the frame but always remains where it began.
