A Poets Chronicles Chapter 11

Words are sharper than the sharpest blade and cut deeper than any whisper...

I am merely a friend, trying to save what I found so precious to me...

Would you spend 100 years living a death filled life or live only 1 night like the wind? That is a question I ask myself in order to keep afloat in the waters of chaos. Regrets flowing out of my eyes, my face, my soul. I swam in search of land so I may rest upon it, but I found nothing. Just miles of liquid as red as the sky at night. I looked in the waters to see all of my nightmares swarming around me. I would scream but I did not require assistance knowing that the nightmares would not harm me for I am the one who created them. If I died, so would they. It sounds like a good thing, I know but then I saw what was under me, helping me float among these damned memories. What I have left that gave me hope for the world. My friends, family, even strangers that have helped me along the way. If I died, their efforts would be in vain. Thus, I kept floating on, trying not to get pushed down by the tides. I looked at the memories below me to see my friends and I smiling, and that was more than enough. Maybe this isn't such a bad thing, do you understand?