Sitting in the middle of living room, all alone underneath a dim light.
Looking at the time, it's 11:26
It's time for bed, I need to rest.
But simply I can't just go to bed right now.
Something needed to be pulled out from my brain.
It's the story that I've been holding in my heart for a long time.
I've been wondering if it's the right time, and if it's going to be the right way.
Am I able to do this?
Am I brave enough to tell the untold stories of the past?
Would it be wiser if I just conceal it?
I'm not quite sure of all these questions.
One thing I know is something has to be done to save me from the haunting voices.
I'm used to be an outcast.
I've been living my life as a stranger.
People call me in various way, but none of them is quite right or everything is the truth.
The more to try to figure it out, the harder to reach to the end.
When would I get the clear answer?
Who's going to help me?
Somehow I know the answer, it's just hard to accept it because it's tough road to take.
My cynical laugh came out as if I knew it would be the same way to end my poem.
Too much hesitation distracts my concentration..
I need to do something about it, or else it will remain as an unfinished.