Sometimes I ponder…
To whom can I freely talk?
To where can I cozily walk?
To what can I pleasurably do?
No one could help you,
Besides leave alone the ego of you.
I do the exercise of the struggle for hatred or pardon?
I play the swing of the reality and ideal.
Like a detective, investigating from the fur of my mood carpet.
I distinguish from the endurance or acceptance for each disagreeable matter.
It pains me.
It hurts me
But It has made what I am for