I'll have my heart in a gift box wrapped in see-through, embellished with flowers, dedicated to you. I'll spread a smear of glitter on it, maybe a little gold too, so it doesn't seem so bitter, so overdue.
I hope it's vivacious; if it was pumping still, and with prudent words you would overkill. Its liveliness--once, now long forgotten--will decay in your palms. Daffodils and daisies will melt into your hands, betraying all qualms.
Being the human that I am, obliged me to always seek knowledge. I loved everything. Everything was a wreckage. The fact that humans can cause this much damage enlightened me, yet the thought of persuing self-destruction further could never set me free.
I was distraught till I was numb to the bones, paralyzed on the cold tiles, silencing my own moans, because what future awaits those who are namely the sick-minded, the delusional, the know-it-all, the blindsided?
For spectators like us, we set everything into action, to those who are less fortunate; the earth is flattened. Their ideas, their meticulous theorems and allegories would all be dispersed, by those who ignited the fire from the beginning. By the universe. By us.