What Happened To The World Was Gradual.

There Is No Ideal World For You To Wait Around For. The World Is Always Just What It Is Now, And It's Up To You How You Respond To It.

There Is A Chasm Between Me And The World Outside Of Me. A Gap So Wide My Feelings Can't Cross It. By The Time My Screams Reach The Other Side, They Have Dwindled Into Groans.

What Wonderful Thing Didn't Start Out Scary?

Are My Words Ever Actually Audible, Or Do They Just Echo In My Head While People Stare At Me, Waiting?

My "heart". Does That Pitiful Organ Still Represent Anything? It Lies Motionless In My Chest, Pumping No Blood, Serving No Purpose, And Yet My Feelings Still Seem To Originate Inside Its Cold Walls. My Muted Sadness, My Vague Longing, My Rare Flickers Of Joy. They Pool In The Center Of My Chest And Seep Out Of There, Diluted And Faint, But Real.