The thing that keeps me safe,

The face that keeps me sound,

It is because of those things,

I have not dug myself a hole in the ground,

The in-crossable line,

The un-walkable road,

Of these, many stories have yet to be told,

What keeps me safe and sound:

Are the feelings I get when everyone is around,

The lights dim,

The people fade,

Only me and my thoughts remain,

Why should I stay pure?

Why shall I stay clean?

It is those precious things that come to mind,

The ones that make life so divine,

The faces and names that cling to my heart,

Surely to defain myself would rip my heart apart,

Purity comes not from guilt,

But from upon the standards I have been built,

Ripping away my purity,

I would surely rip away a part of me,

To be pure might seem a chore,

But it never is when you think of the reasons you are staying pure for,

A face perhaps,

A place in time,

All of those things are really fine,

Grief well spent,

Regrets well made,

These are things that never have to be paid,

Never jump into sorrow,

Never plunge into willing sin,

Because, you must ask yourself:

Will you ever be able to forgive yourself again?