“… What am I, really? I guess I don't really understand happiness, although I think it's what I pursue."

I am fiction, but I am no fake.
I have a past, but I'm not history.
I am only heartless because many have claimed a piece of my puzzle.
I am alive, but barely. I am insecure. I am scared.

Something is dying. Something in there hurts. It fucking hurts.
The worst of it all, is that I don't which painkiller to hit.

I need directions. I need a light. I need deliverance.
I want out!
Let my past be a fading mirage in this eternal swirl of colors and emotions instead of a suffocating void pressed upon my existence!

And if it must be, then mould me.
Make me dance. Make me breathe.

Make me be that breath of fresh air.