Dear God, It starts with the mist. Droplets falling into the bucket. Inch by inch the bucket starts filling. It slowly builds. I’m now trapped. My tears sway down to the depths. Happiness is stolen. My words are lost in the river of hope to which they will never be heard of.

It then sprinkles. While of course portraying the image of a sun. Fires are started. It all starts with a thought. It then turns into an endless wildfire. A wildfire so great, not even the best firemen can stop. Why am I here?

It takes over every crevice of my body. It disintegrates every piece of hope I have left.  I can’t hear; every sound is covered up in sorrow.  What am I thinking? Am I? Voices start to arise. No one cares, you are worth nothing, why are you such a waste of oxygen.

While the grave is being dug. Sprinkles turn to rain. The bucket is arising; faster than I can comprehend. All that I have left is my friends. Though everything is temporary right?

Seasons change. I am now sentenced to the death penalty. I can’t recall the last time the sun was out. I am drowning under my screams. Society seems to be deaf. Calling for help is basic suicide. So I swallow the pill, only to be judged for being the ugly duckling. 

I try to call for help. My friends, no, my destroyers, they-they, the gas the fire, they dig the grave, they fill my bucket. My secrets are not safe. Trust has faded out of the picture. Drama, it becomes the new oxygen everyone has to have to survive. I am betrayed by the people I love the most, loved* the most. I have lost everything. I have lost everything.

Thunderstorms brew. The bucket is now full. Is there a solution to solve this problem? Is there a solution to this problem? The end has come. The world; takes you down every time you start to pick yourself up. Is this what you can define life as? A wildfire that burns you to death.

So, God, what am I going to do? Please help me.