One for the Three

This isn't my journal, it's my, can't stop myself. No one here isn't hurting some. From then, or now, or one or the other; and I won't even go into the futures missing fingernails. I wish I could lay my hand on your belly, and take all the wrongs from within, and in counterclockwise rubs, erase them. To give you a sigh like a cry that could help you breath again, one of the 100 different sighs we have; but I only give out the good and the bad, never the one that stops the clock of worry. I don't even know how to say it or what "it" is, I only know it exists(like a black hole) because of its gravity; that and the pull we push against.