Like a War.

I don't know why you ask me so many things, I mean I really don't have anything to say about them. I don't understand why you push to know the answers to something you don't care about. You're not being curious, you're being, stubborn. It doesn't even matter really, because I know the answers and reasons to my own problems. Because when it comes down to the end, their isn't a thing I can do, or you, or anyone else. I'm not hurting anymore, of course not, I don't even know what that feels like anymore. Hurt is like being skinned alive, slowly.

No, I don't have words for you anymore, the things I needed to say have already been said. Sure, it's true I should have been smarter with my words, but I never got a chance to think about it. Too caught up in my words you know? Flash of rage and the mellow stillness of feeling sorry. If their is one thing I know by now, you can never be right. Ever. When you are told different of your own thought, that person will stick to what they believe, even if you are right. But if you are right, then you aren't aloud to say anything, because if you do, you will be hung.

I know when to look at myself, to never look. Truth is like a naked person. Blind people always tend to see better from the start. I've always been blind in one eye. I've seen people bleeding, some with burns, others stitching their scars. The smell of fear, and honesty. But the people are separated from them are fine, walking around like front page news.

When disaster follows hard upon disaster and terror hangs on every side...
If you wanted to know what was going on, that is. When you ask what I'm going to do, where I'm going to go. I'll tell you, the first place that doesn't know my name.