Have you been to my mind? Have you heard the sounds in my head?
I guess, not yet. Not ever. Who would dare? It's not even safer than hell.

Have you seen my scars? Have you felt that agonizing state my years have brought me into?
I guess, you won't. Not ever. Who'd want to see the gruesome nature of my weary soul?

Have you seen my tears? Have you tried to let a river flow down your frozen cheeks?
I guess, you haven't. Still, not ever. Who'd do a stuff that doesn't feel right for a usual individual?

Have you touched my hand? Have you searched for my pulse and found it dysfunctional?
I guess, you won't bother. Why ever? Who'd care touch a thing that wouldn't last forever?

Have you read my words? Have you read anything but my simple, pointless words?
I guess so, this time. But you won't give a dime. Mere words show nothing but something to base your prejudice on. Am I right?

You're reading my mind. You're seeing my scars. You're watching me cry. You're feeling me die. And I,
I am having my own time to let you know of my words. My words that may not matter to you or to me or to anyone right before this piece. But let me tell you of one thing: These words may cut our strings, but these are less than what I truly want to reveal about what I truly feel.