I turn to the page in hope of discovering answers. As thoughts are formed and words spill out I hope somewhere in what is written will be truth without any ulterior. Struggling for structure, grammer my foe. I can't grasp love so easily forgotten, the only truth can be that I was spoken lies. So should I be surprised...So no more running, no more chase, it was never a game and I have been left in the dirt to contemplate my shame. I still don't know who I am, or how it happened that the devil I became. I will never find closure, I don't think it is what I seek. Of what I don't know...I seek answers from a mind filled with questions and that is no easy task. It is times like these that I truly hate myself, my mind, my emotion, my being...I force upon a weakness, a burden to carry. It is not fair to me or any else. I seek relief in the bottom of a bottle. Put on a smile, grin. No fake face, I wont put on a mask. self. who are you? what is it you want...give me a bottle, fill up the cup. I will deal with sorrow tomorrow.