Attempting to pour my pain into another, those who claim to hold me up, those whose sole intention is to be by my side no matter what, their lacking empathy, their lacking their own mental constitution just as I am. Hold My own. At the end of the world who will my hand hold? My mind is clouded and honestly I see no one. Pressure and pain, wear it like a garment. Let every step I take, with every word I speak, let that pain be true, may my chin never drop, and may those who pray for my weariness continue see me handle it with grace.