Sometimes I give birth to words I fear.
In pursuit of forming the right sentences to say,
the depths in shallow letters of my agony produces screaming silences at night.  
Each syllables that I create, my bleeding heart trembles in horror of how it will make a sound.
Thus, my rambling will only announce the pain in every waking moment.

Every vowel and consonants is leading to my insanity.
I've avoided myself to feeling joy in hyperboles,
only to find my wicked tongue commanding my lips to curl.

I figured that these alphabets I learned,
is the production of my despair.
That the metaphors I crave, is the cost of my unbecoming.
Paid full in sorrow, for the phrase and synonyms to state my imperfections.

My uneasiness I set forth to,
is how I wage war to give justice to people I lost in the battle.
No other simile can recognize the discomfort I live in.
I only hope, and only if I'm worthy, that I can learn to be myself once more.