I couldn't be silent as the train I was on sped all the way to a station I didn't recognize, I had no control over the engines screaming to be replaced, I couldn't catch up any longer, and the more I ran, the less I knew the speed to stop at.
How could I just stand there as the hands of time continued to swing, hurling me from one strange and unpleasant page to another? I'm not sure when everything will be finished, on which page this story will end in a long epilogue, or in whose hands this turmoil will be reconciled.
How could I be fine when my head was hit by blunt objects, my limbs were entangled by the weak and helpless, my heart was pumping nonstop, the heart was drained and empty space was left, my mouth was locked, and as much as I tried to free myself, I only increased the grip on my body, and the wound was getting worse? the situation will deteriorate
How can I just stand there and stare?
While stomachs demand that they be filled, notes demand that they be cleared, and people want that they be scheduled. The days torment me relentlessly; during the day, I am dark and color blind; at night, I stutter, and all colors beg to be painted tomorrow.
How can I be like this when the sky is endless, the rain falls on any cheek, other flowers grow and new buds form, the chess horse continues to gallop, or the pen and paper have reached the abyss of the book?
How am I supposed to...
Oh **** it!
I'm sick of sentences; I'm no longer strong.
This story has concluded.