Twisted Vernacular: As my patience is stirred,

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Stop. Let my words submerge and my voice demerge as my fucked up feelings converge between your scrambled thoughts you called logic. Then let your words be conferred and your voice be heard as your wishes are blurred when in friction with my sense of loving you. Just stop. I promise I'll handbrake my life in motion just to be there with you. I promise you my hugs are safe and our world is warm. And by the time we get back, we'd have walked the past and embrace today as time electrify our sense of understanding, and appreciating, everything. And if you won't, I'll break the skies and shatter gravity. I'll set Judgment to the universe to the point of insanity. I'll brace you through destructive impacts coming at harmful velocities. And you'll claim the world record for being the safest person anyone could ever be. You're searching for impossible things in the wrong places. So stop this. Please. Just take my hand and follow this way. I've known you forever, so I wouldn't sway. Didn't we promise if our hearts be astray, we'll stick together and forever we'll stay?

I find comfort in your hugs, but the world we live in is not what you think. It’s a barren, unforgiving place, never forgetting my history. My past mistakes that I cannot atone for even if I am able to cleanse my soul. The cause of my death is of no importance, but I will be in the Guinness book of world records for suicide. Definitely not for being safe. I can’t stop. I am the “Little Engine That Can’t”, never making it to the top of the hill. My wheels turn constantly, screeching against the rails as I come to the crossroads of destiny. There, I shall meet my fate. The wind will not abate and I, light as a feather, will either float up to the heavens above or sink into hell. I’m sorry I have to say this, but a pinky promise doesn’t mean anything anymore. I have failed in so many ways and my conscience is racked with guilt.

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