What Is So Real As The Cry

I'm Sarcastic, Skeptical, And Sometimes Callous Because I'm Still Afraid, Deep Down, Of Letting Myself Be Hurt.

Before I Give My Body, I Must Give My Thoughts, My Mind, My Dreams.

I Have The One Person I Could Ever Love In This World. Now I Must Work To Be A Person Worthy Of That.

Feel Oddly Barren. My Sickness Is When Words Draw In Their Horns And The Physical World Refuses To Be Ordered, Recreated, Arranged And Selected. I Am A Victim Of It Then, Not A Master.

The Silence Between Us Was So Profound I Thought Part Of It Must Be My Fault.