the pitiful cries of youth, young, and unborn linger in the space between life and fate. i cry along with them knowing i'm caught in the mix and the feeling wont dissipate. i've tried to escape, make all end, but i find myself asking where, when, how did i begin? so being lost i look out at the invisible eyes and hear echoed cries of those who may as well say they've lost their lives to their own murderous thoughts. they are just back to haunt themselves in their still being. still alive still seeing what was meant for the blinded, hearing whats for the mute, and feeling the intangible. all of which makes cries louder and its an ongoing torture for my ears, eyes, mind....



to be continued