I wish that I could be a poet every day. I need some way to dig myself up out of this hell, but today the words won't come. It's only sorrow, but some days there just aren't enough sighs in my chest to push the time as hard as I need it to be pushed. My life is such a façade, and I have nobody to blame for this but myself, if blame is even the right word. Words…today they are little refuge, they offer no since of clarity, direction, or explanation, they are all just synonyms for wrong.