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There are words in me,
Unspeakable,
There are thoughts in me,
Unthinkable,
A magnitude of hate,
A frenzy of fury,
A need to shy away,
A need to despair,
For the sacrifice of myself,
For everything I want to be,
I feel as though,
No matter where I go,
No matter what I do,
I am nothing,
And some days,
Some days that is fine,
And for every other,
I wish to cry.
Liberation is not in freedom of thought,
Nor in eternal happiness,
It is in the acknowledgement of death,
And the simple knowledge,
That everything is finite.
That love is blind,
And is one of the few things,
We can find.