I shall be blamed for the hurting ears and blinding sights. Dilute me in your most graceless way, Oh so-called heavenly Mother, longest time I addressed torment as an Angel in coruscating white dress and it was throughout my breathing dreams. What should I bet over those bitterness your mouth had diffused on me? I couldn’t fathom the rough cut I have always been forced to dealt with—and more moulding scars from yesteryears are terrorising me by unaliving question.