بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

silence is a dagger, that I've long known, so small and unnoticed, strikes without warning, a series of pinpricks, scattered across the soul. but as fortune would have it, you're already forgiven, never a thing you could do, to make me upset at something from you. perhaps it was i who became the villain? some word misspoke, some syllable thoughtlessly given? 

my speech is imperfect, so is my vision, blinded with eyes still seeing, repeatedly trying to see a way past this moment, then He drags me back to my ignorance, a stumble inevitable. maybe, when i'm at my worst, my words, my touch, turn into a plague for those i love most, though such is the case i've long thought, whatever nears me soon turns to ash, possibly thus explaining, how a lover is kept so distant, from those he longs to have. surrounded in blessing, so many reasons for happiness, yet from what i've always needed, i am absent, prevented, restricted, in my own opinion's court, convicted, of being insufficient while plentifully gifted. 

death is my answer, that He'll never give, not until every drop i possess, drips out from arteries within, tried and tested, so thus that it is, for me to be judged, my destiny proven in how i lived, while without love.