The forgotten snow dust…


I know the power of words well enough, moreover when you add voices as in its accompany.
Just put it in the right hand, then being stabbed with a blade will be much more better.

Add some spices, emotions, and it will be worse. Even without voice, it’ll bleed, might be enough to kill you without letting you die.

Curse you, anyone who make language. For making life harder, even though it seems easier.
Freedom of speech will always be illusion, as when you try to speak, someone will beat you back down, buried in pain.

Why can’t life be more like the net? Where you can choose who may reach you and who may not.
What’s wrong with that? A full control to your own tiny world, a barrier-ful of avoidance.

Trusting others mean letting them held the vorpal blade, the only thing that can screw yourself, breaking you upside down.
The less people having it, the better, right? I will also avoid holding that damn thing. I don’t want mine to be hurt, why should I hurt other’s?

I choose not to speak.


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