What do you do?

A dark and filthy existence clouded by a stench washed in mint ovetones 

A musty life with weary eyes and dragging feet meet to altogether drop

When a reminant of initial strength gives into the influence of its capacity

When willpower and ingenuity have never provided a stable source

A drink of poison cannot satisfy the atmosphere of decay within your stomache

A stomache eating itself long since food was unable to provide nourishment

When all you say you want is "peace" and your hand hand will bring it about

How can you survive?

What is it to live when death is all you have known?

A voice who likes to be called "The Word" simply asks "How are you?"

Knowing the answer, which you are unable to provide, He takes your hand

Consoles your whole and wipes your tears. A spit-on Man named The Word cares?

A light suddenly shines and reveals where you are...

The room is dusty and cluttered with chipped paint covering the floor and all the furniture. A family of mice have made your pillow their nest. The room is a dumping spot for everything you thought you were able to hide. What noone else knew about, or so you thought, is strewn all across the floor. Piles and piles of horrible memories that reveal your true nature.

But before shame can set in The Word speaks again and says "this is not who you are."

You say, "I don't know who I am."

He responds softly "You are my beloved and if you want me to show you, just ask."