Shadows slumber as the sun goes down. Hours pass. Deep into the night, and into the morning, I write. While the sane lay their weary heads to rest and to process impressions of their passing day, my mind keeps spinning infinitely as I pen my thoughts onto paper letter by letter and later read them back in order to comprehend the turmoil that occurs in my gray matter.

I know very well that when one admires a flower, one should not pick it. One should not pick it. I know very well that when one loves another, one should not want it. One should not want it. To let you go and grow and blossom on as you're predestined to. To let you root and sprout where you feel grounded. To let you advance every leaf, every petal and every sepal on your body until you are fully grown. To let you be in all your essence, moving along with the wind, reaching up to the sunrays and handle as you do all the passing weather. To let you be - one should not pick it. Yet I can not help but want to pick you so badly. Pick you so badly, and keep you with me alone. One should not pick it.

Shamelessly wanting to indulge in someone's physical form; not for the purpose of expressing love, but for that of gratifying a selfish desire. Longing for their taste in order to satisfy one's own craving -as if they were a good meal- and then dispose of them -as if they were an empty plate, now destined to the dishes-. A rather brutal, but no less organic, force of human nature.  

Eyes closed,

mind open.

My visualizations fully directed by conscious thought,

for when I give up, 

there's nothing there to watch.

Nothing to watch.

Nothing but,

a dark gradient,

with black on top,

flowing into an ocher yellow

below.

And the vibrant sights of my imagination,

lost,

between both.

Lost between both.

Although having heard of its honorary character in Japan, I was perfectly aware of the shame my actions would bring upon my direct and even extended family here in modern day England. Unsure I was about the probabilities of whether I would cause more indignity if I were to continue my life - failing to fit in - or if I were to end it - failing to persist in pretending altogether -. In spite of all consequence, I have made my choice rationally and with full conviction. My physical being would depart this planet today; just so that my vibrational being could roam freely amongst all that is and all that I had never been allowed to encounter. One could hardly call it suicide, for it has been the standards of society that have kept me from living a single day in this life I had once been given for opposing purpose. One could hardly call it murder, for my soul had died many moons ago.