There's a pain inside of me that cries like a baby when what i write is harsh like the guilt of a president with hungry nation; guilt is power like the gun used in murder by a convict on probation, holding a rose which will eventually wilt. Death is a part of life, and all will need to get used to it because there are things you can change, but most you cannot. On a window sill the light will come of death because it's a voice of heaven where we all will meet our brethren I love life and all its aspects, aspects full of cries of all the pain inside.
