With clipped wings, I still attempt flight.
No encouragement from you now.
The lack of hope acts like gasoline, and I am fueled

Without you, my clipped wings have the chance to regrow.

From the depths of your fruitless soul I can complete my task,
Because there is so much more to the world, so much more to humanity than mere survival.

P-A-T-H-E-T-I-C would look great tattooed on my knuckles,

But I'm not going to do it because like everything else, it would fail to make any dent to you and your superiority complex. The good thing is that I don't feel entirely ridiculous anymore, just mostly. And my need to jump out of a 54th floor window has ceased for the time being. I'll wait until the weather warms up again before contemplating suicide. I would rather my last moments be warm. Every human being wants to feel safe. If i knew how to approach that feeling maybe I could find a way to embrace it. But the light at the end of my tunnel, once again, has been turned off. So for now I will keeping waking up each morning into the same daunting routine in hopes that one day either I won't wake up or that the day will bring something entirely out of the ordinary and something new for me to take part in.