I'm always sitting in silence. Left to figure out my own insanity. My mind turns and twists at the thought of death, but does it really scare me? At this point, you'd think I'd get over the fact that I should be dead by now, but in all reality I've been dead for years on end. There's a mirage of memories contemplating my world, only to break at the thought of breathing once more. There's a sense of darkness that seems to take over my body, and everyone tries to understand me, and they study me like I'm some sort of specimen. Like I'm no longer human. I try to understand the world of society, but it's the world of society that can't understand me. No amount of words or money or fame could ever make me forget my shame. Blood stains and pain are a hand in hand one night game, but does it really ever go away? Feelings for the wrong body is always asking for trouble, but does it ever really mean it's wrong? This confusion that floats around in my mind for years and years tends to catch dust, but it's potent enough to keep me alive. Are these feelings good or should I let them die? Either way, I'll never get some sleep tonight.
