Optimistic. Kind. Successful.

It's what I should be.

It's what I will be.

Needs for love grow daily in the grey eyes of beloved friends.

Be happy. Be loving. Be an example.

Show them the possibilities for themselves through you.

But still the desire to be true to oneself consumes me. I'm screaming with no tongue, I'm screaming in my soul.

The longing to be sorrowful sinks my chest to an unending empty pit.

Feelings left confined are the very murderers of the soul.

But the need is there in others. Their lonely, spiteful devils cry for help, controlling their mind and body.

So I must be their help.

I can be optimistic.

I can be kind.

I can be the assumed success that gives hope to the future healing of their wounds.

I will not scream if it means the death of their souls.

Their pain is the power within me.

I will be their hope.