a silent detached gaze, staring through the thick sludge that is air, wallowing through the slippery oil that is time, suffering through the endless pain that is life. help. what is wrong with suicide. what rhetoric. i know all the arguments for and against, i think. so what. what does that change. the conflict, the pain, the frustration, the impossibility of communication, the many faces of war. war, violence, conflict, death, and more incoherent ramblings of a troubled mind. the time draws near, no, no it does not, not yet.

shattered dreams and broken shards
what says thou of a shattered life
the sparkling glass, so real, so sharp
the impossible pain, so real, again and again

we all wish for a different life
a different path in the waters of Time
yet how does it never seem right
never, never, never.

what does it take? before it will change. before they stop hounding me. before they let it go. before they CEASE TO CARE. the pain that is the care which hurts, the concern ill-advised, the care i do not want, that i do not care for, that is counter productive, that i hate. i wish to run, and run and run and run. away. but away from who, away from where. what if, what if the problem lies in me, and can never be run away from. but i would have to try to find out.

"ALL:
Double, double toile and trouble;
fire burn and cauldron bubble"

argh.