It feels like everything I do is inspired, each thing I do is worthwhile, and it's true that when I write it feels divine. Why else would I search for something that I could never find? Why all the endless nights asking the almighty for a sign? Why oh why did I try to change a past that had already died? Why all those times did I sit alone and just cry? Why would I wish to never live and for me to die? Surely the dangers and savior of my own mind.