Strictly speaking, I'm not the one to blame, I was just made like this. Eternally incomplete, always missing the point, perpetually restless. Seeking the hidden pleasure behind the veils of self-inflicted pain. I say the wrong things to the wrong people, so that the bitter taste of regret never leaves my mouth.

A humorless protagonist in my life's cheesy tragedy. To avoid being left alone with my self, I fill my days with strange faces, I am drawn to the warmth of unfamiliar bodies, which leaves me frozen inside. At night I like to walk in the hostile city's unlit streets. Too afraid to die, I am content simply to flirt with death's shadow.

What is worse, to suffer in silence or to silence all sufferance? If I scream, will you come and scare my nightmares away? Dare to pity me, and I'll laugh in your face. All the lonely people belong nowhere, and that's the only answer there is.