Destitute air surrounds poverty-stricken land
And again I want to be dead.
I want the destitute to end for those who suffer,
And I want to be one with the universe,
Though the universe can hear me,
It really isn't responding to my thoughts,
Only with venerated silence that scares me.
I chose this life, can I not change it once more?
Must I suffer with the heartache that I
Will never know true love?
Must the destitution of this world get at me
So terribly that I wish I could die
To make others feel better?
Does this make me a ruined person?
Or does this make me a better one?
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