Your words hurt like a blade to my throat,
The feeling of sand to my eyes,
The pain one gets when being alone for too long,
The cold on my hands in the freezing rain,
And the beauty of the warmth that god gave me.
Your words slipped purposefully, but I fell by them accidentally.
Think before you speak, or else thee shall never forget.

I wish to understand, I wish oh how I wish. Will I ever be thee one to hold a gun toward myself to have a last moment of thought, before I pull the trigger toward one and regret it a second before my purposeful end?

What shall one do, if they are trapped inside their mind as they rot in bed with the flu? What would you do if you were trapped by thoughts of death and purpose? would we all end up with the same end, or maybe a twist to the plot?

the questions I beg mercy for thee to answer, will never ever be enough for thee as I only gave my words, not my tongue, nor my throat. What can one give, to hold the answer of life? Nothing, as thee will never tell.

Who am I if I cannot think, cannot speak, and cannot show?

who may I be if my thoughts are a mess, are a muse, and are at war with me?

I want to be happy, be glad, and not ever, ever, be sad.

My thoughts are too deep, even for the most deepest people you'll ever meet. Am I one with my own ending? and ending of sorrow, confusion, and regret? Or am I the answer to what thee seek?