Once more, I will pick up the pen
Try to tell my story, try to rein it in.
It is not for you, it is for me.
I'm lost, but not deserving of pity.
I am made up of my past. I do not understand the present. I cannot plan the future.
To the observer, nothing is wrong.
To me, everything has gone.
I am alone. I am weak.
The only word sufficient for me? Freak.
I have goals, but I do not know what they are.
I have a past that has left me with insatiable scars.
Yet it is all normal on the surface.
But I cannot move on from the past to find a new purpose.
