What's wrong?
I don't belong
here with you,
Never will do.

So I'm gone,
If this is home
Then I'm alone
Remain unknown.

For ever on,
I will belong
Into the waves
For all my days...

Vast, this snowy land
still and deep the quiet country
cold the cloudy fog we breathe
gasping winds that rise and break the silence
along a fence line, slowly disappearing
how small the trees and distant hills that fade like smoke
and loom the clouds like ghosts, blooming madly white - the sky
if in winter we should meet deep along some snowy height
gazing as the grey and whites fade swiftly into night
some evening silently await the moon, void of words to speak
with great Peace - to breathe beneath the great north star that shines

One bullet. One bullet is all it would take to drain away all of the disillusionment and dishonesty, all the tears and silent screams in the middle of the night when I can't see any reason to stick around, when all I want to do is set myself on fire and throw myself off the roof, for no other reason than to actually ****** feel something before I go. But I can't. The recurring thoughts of sweet release are always soured by thoughts of the aftermath. My parents. They would never recover. They'd spent the rest of what they don't even feel like you could call a "life" wondering where they went wrong, why I didn't come to them, why they weren't able to help me. Why their baby is dead. The image of my parents weeping over my brutally disfigured corpse is something I've never seen, but it haunts my ******* dreams every night when I close my eyes. ******* it mom and dad, why the **** do you have to care about me so much. I love you two, so ******* much. It may seem like an end to the pain for us, but for parents, it's the end of their lives.