Excuse.

I want to write, as soon as I do everything leaves inside, what does it mean? As I wonder I tend to see nothing but blankness, how my mind is. I'm the moment I take the paper and throw it, never to own it leave it behind and flow with, the shadow that's there with it's unfrightened stare. You try to guide it with happy thoughts, you find you emotions butt naked and lost. What do I do without anger to come save me? Without happiness to come save you, you look in the mirror see the change, everything is to real to be fake, for mortality sake why can't I wake. This never ending dream not even a dream, more like a nightmare. Asking my choices to spare me an actual chance, on spending the rest of my life a slow dance. I ask you brain will you spare this life of mine some change?