Dear world,
Sometimes the words choose to lace their fingers onto my throat and strangle me for my very being of expression or existence
But I have nothing to say.
The world has broken me so very much,
That sulking into the depths of the earth does not sound like such a bad idea
I grip my pen, like I grip onto my life,
But my hands are sweaty and giving up doesn't seem like such a bad idea,
The only problem being that I'm hopeful and letting go isn't something my heart
Takes light