Dear ghost,
I crumble in the bonfire of their discernment. I feel infinitely abandoned. I fear the fate will never dare to intervene. Could it be that I must gobble their views. I failed to recognise until they burned my glass. They fueled it randomly, secretly, sarcastically, hypocritically, worriedly and critically. I am aware of the world inside. Of the warrior holding silvers of my strength. I know its tale. But when they flame it, I shy away from her. Hungry for warmth, I stagger towards the fire. I am weak to such persuasion. If they hold the devil's tongue, I am a casualty necessary for sanity. I remember their words, its etched on my blotting skin. I have kept it in a bulletin. However, this ache, who will take it away from me?