Head Stone

Dear god,

Dear god, let this be my creed, my life, my end and that which all are to look back on to. I may, of now, not ask of you much and too I may be confused about my feelings and what and where I want to be, but if nothing more, let them be able to look back at these words I write.

And now, to my children, my babies, my friends and my family and for all the wandering, lost and curious eyes of the world - Feeling trapped, I am, tumbling, burning from hate and loss. It all just fills my head it bloats in my muscles and veins, back up my spine in a cold tingle. I wish so much, and want so many things, but if only I could go back and choose again. But just as every beginning has an end a choice can never be undone. So for now and forever, my choices, I shall only cry.

But my tears, what will they do? How will they have a meaning? It all soaks up in my skin and I am ready to explode. And all the while, the spinning, the drowning, the questions . . . What is it all for, and why is this happening? I just want it all to end, shun out the dark and let in only light. My life has become just an assortment of simliar happenings . . . And again, and again, and again . . . It's all just so uncertian,my pain - my agony - it hurts so bad sometimes - and I feel so alone that it's all that scares me. How could anyone understand and more on the point why would they want too?

And my life, it is so cold, all I can do is sit in the dark depths, thrown into a phantasmagoric state. It's dark and cold and as I indulge into my head and scrounge in my thoughts for something, ANYTHING! But to no prevail. And the walls, the floors-fretted, black and white. And I can see and feel the prisoner  I have become, even in my own mind. Your mind, your dream and hopes, they seem so complex, when in reality you truly are only as found as you are lost. And I am lost . . .

Feelings come in the dark - like my whole life has been a gross injustice. Feel my life has been fearsome creature and the answer was there all along. There is no cure for my feelings and they will never change. But at least now I have found your answer and now I have the last word. Now my box is made of wood and is filled to its rim with lushes gore, and singeing stenches. Above is sixfeet of dirst, soil and above that life will continue on without me. That I hope it does, but not how mine did. I wish that the world could learn the lesson I wish I had been shown. Even now I don't know what the answer is, but I know there is one, and I know each person deserves it.

And now my words, they close and now they will be final.