Modern day Shakespeare

To cry, or not to cry-- that is the question:
whether 'tis nobler to hold it in
and prove myself strong
or let it out, this pain held in for so long.
And by letting it out, to cry, to weep--
No more, inside this pain so deep.
The heartache, and the mournful cries.
That flesh inside, it suffers and dies.
Devoutly to be wished. To cry, to weep--
to weep--per chanced to die,
aye, there's the comparison,
for in that weep, that my heart is in,
When we have shuffled off this mortal pain,
the pain is still, yet very insane
that makes holding it in so hard for me
for the weights of time, how painful they can be.
The witnesses thoughts, so vial it seems.
The hurt I feel is in his dreams.
The beatings from inside, and the gain,
I myself can't obtain.
For when I find myself in this state
with a sorrow? who would make.
To sigh and hurt under a weary strife,
I get nothing but pain from this life.
But the dread of hurt for tomorrow's day,
the undiscovered hurt, coming my way.
No return my strength, after my cry.
The strength that will forever die.
Than to hold it in, the pain I know of?
Thus, does make a coward of my love.
And thus the raw and suffering
is forcing a cry within my being.
And living in the moment still
with this pain, is it my will?
With this though, I turn away,
and hold in the pain for today-- cry you how,
Oh the pain!-- in thy heart will remain the same.