We can't vary our own death. We can only predict, assume and think of what might happen. God is the one who will decide. At some point in my life, I over-think. Over-think bout things that weren't supposed to be think of. Still, desires on to know, those eager affection. Makes me feel vulnerable. Yet, I always stand up onto thing i thought can support me. I was wrong. Blinded by those ideas of happiness. A heart once innocent, decent, pure. Now am rotten, darkened. Imagining myself being able to across those bridges. Laughed at myself for having such high hopes. From a day to days, parts of me crumbled. Parts of me are begging for help. Parts of me are desperately gasping for an eternal and peaceful air. Parts of me are seeking in the darkness with the hopes of finding a glimpse of lights. I met saints, saints despise my presence. It's not you but it's me right? No matter how hard you are trying to prove to people that you can change, once an act or words were being done and spoken out, it can't never be forgotten but only be forgiven. 2014, coming like a flash and strikes like a thunder roaring, alarming to those who wanted to change. This is it. Again, I myself am crawling in the middle of my journey, crawling and seeking the left overs of my Dua, with a thread and a needle on my right hand, few cuts on my left hands, I picked them up. I picked words that has been muttered by me yet being cast out. Some of the words i found being stick at my own body, glued. some of them were being held by the saints. I picked them up and started to sew it. Hands shivering, tears welding up, a body that feels like being stabbed thousands of times by the shadow of your presence and past. A sentences of prayers has been made. To say it, requires your Khusyuk. Yet, all you could thing of is how bad you are, how despiteful you are.