It's not like no one knows of it and yet it's only discussed in hushed vouces by victims and supposed experts.
I don't think I'll ever stop wanting it. There's not enough left of me or the world and yet there's too much, it's overwhelming. I will end up killing myself because I can't go on some great adventure with a sword atmy waist and lock picks in my pocket, because I can't see true love, because I can't save the day and because as teen angst as it sounds, life sucks.
Still, for the time being, I can still escape into fantastic worlds of imagination...and the supposed real world, this prison, can go fuck itself.
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