So there shall be a story.
A girl who pined for love.
Stretched out her skin, a razor pen, and wrote each word in blood.
Each letter was deceitful,
and each stroke was a sin.
Just so she held a final breath, no longer could she win.

If I were a fisherman I'd cast my line aside.
And close my eyes,
and lay me down,
and trust me to the tide.

But I don't the have privilege to use pure natures will.
So, for now, I just shut down, and keep my feelings in.