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Why does it always seem that what the heart need and the soul craves is always out if reach? I once had that which fulfilled every state of my being, but now that it's gone a wound that refuses to heal has been left in it's place. Dressing it up keeps the world from seeing the gaping hole that sits where my passion once was, but with every breath i can feel the stabbing pain course through each nerve in my body. Each smile is nothing more than a painting meant to disguise the cracked expression left on the face of this twisted wretch. Maybe one day my soul will be born anew. Until then, I can only pray that this cheap fabric and paint is able to hold on stronger than I am. No one else should ever have to witness the horror that lies within that well-formed illusion.

I'm just now coming to the realization that everyone is selfish and only out for themselves no matter what they might say.These are the kinds of days that it's good to be by yourself.