I hate you world. Your summer sun turned to ice in the vast bleak sky, its rays jagged icicles impaling and lacerating the essence of my being through my every shivering pore, bleeding me cold. Then turning on your stifling oppressive heat you sucked away my air before reaching out to strangle me. You sliced off the pit of my stomach, crushed my pressured head then pounded at what remained of my heart, blow after blow after blow. My ears can hear but have stopped listening, my ruptured eyes are open but no longer see. Why is it that I can still feel anguish with what little remains? A quivering voice among many, I pleaded with you to let the sun return to the East just this once, to let the rivers trickle upstream just this once, to bring back spring just this once, to allow painful words to be unheard just this once, to undo the suffering just this once. But you laughed in our faces, tormenting us as we watched the rest of the world enjoy the warm summer sunshine denied to us. I am damaged beyond repair, a wilted flower neither living nor dead but just existing in that lost space, perpetually reliving the despair, trapped between desperately trying to claw back the dawn and waiting an eternity for a never-approaching tomorrow. You cruelly give and take life as if playing a light-hearted game. I hate you for the pain you inflicted and for forcing us apart. We weren't ready to say goodbye. World, you are dead to me.