I used to wish for slits through my wrists and a hole in my skull, but when the blood would start to flow, I wouldn't learn anything I didn't already know, and the pain did not go, it only slowly continued to grow with each mark I left to show

I used to get into fights, screaming bouts against the wind and the sky, but when the words in my throat would finally run dry, I'd realize I had only been shouting in the hope of reaching the soul trapped behind my eyes, to free him from the denial that coated each of my lies