MarkL15
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A different kind of hell
This was something that just came out today, guess things really do come out when they need to. Not finished, no where near finished, hope i do finish it, may get some closure, may not. Its going to be long, was 5 months of my life, after reading this you will see, one single moment takes a long time to get out. Read at your own caution, will involve abuse and will be Rated, wont be any graphic details.
---
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
Goo Goo Dolls - iris
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11/16/2003, 12:31 pm
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MarkL15
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Re: A different kind of hell
A different kind of hell
Running.
Fear pulsating chest tightening in pain your every muscle on stand by ready, ready to run, ready to fight, every movement around you sharper every sound heightened. Notice the emotion?, sure you do, fear, something we all feel at one point. That adrenaline that runs through your veins, leaves your muscles tense, anxiety making you ready to jump at any sudden movements. The adrenaline is quick, able to let you make a decision, to stay and fight or to run. I had run, for the first time I ran from my fears.
That's how I ended up at the bus station, a duffle bag on my back with a few of my clothes in, and money I had taken from home. I waited in line, it was summer, July a month many enjoy, kids my age especially, I saw them all around me, enjoying the warm nights that July gave us. Yet I was distanced from them, I wasn't a kid enjoying the summer nights with friends, I was 13 and running away from all I had ever knew. My music in my ears, allowed me to block the people around me out, allowed me to be alone with my thoughts, not something that is always a good thing.
A movement to the side of me a hand grabbing my arm, fear flashed through my mind, I pulled ready to run, to escape his hold on me. My one thought was that he had followed me and was now here to take me back. As I pulled away, a movement that caused my stereo to fall to the floor, strange how a noise can sound so loud, it was loud, loud enough to make me focus. It was then I realised the hand was gone, it wasn't him, and elderly gentlemen looked at me, obvious dislike for my behaviour, even though it had been him grabbing at me. I hadn't meant to shout, but the adrenaline was still fading, the lump of fear was tight in my throat, as I shouted at him to not touch me. I felt the eyes on me, heard the gasps and whispers, the pale old face frowning at me, before pointing at my bag
" just wanted to tell you your bag was open son, didn't mean to startle you"
I felt the familiar flush on my cheeks, felt my words of apology stick in my throat, I had always stammered, especially when I was under pressure. I felt eyes on me, heard my poor attempt to say sorry, I was sorry, sorry that I had over reacted, that I hadn't zipped my bag, that I existed. I saw him take in my appearance, the bruises to my face the fresh cut to my head,which was still bleeding, despite my hand applying pressure, I wouldn't have trusted me. He moved away slowly as if waiting for my attack, I felt the eyes slowly turn to wary glances, wondering if I was a moody teenager or if I was dangerous no doubt many were hoping they would not be sharing a bus with me.
I managed to retrieve my stereo and the batteries which had rolled out, luckily not any further damage, I noticed how cold my arm was. Cold where the elderly mans hand had been, my body was warm due to the summer night and the flush of embarrassment that covered my body, but my arm was cold. His hand had met my bare skin due to not needing a jacket, his grip had not been tight, but it was enough. Hands should be warm, they belong to humans of flesh and blood, I had realised a long time ago though just how cold hands can be. I rubbed the area on my arm, feeling the memory push, I could feel it trying to break through, I rubbed harder trying to warm the skin, trying to rub away that touch. I pulled my jacket on, suddenly no longer feeling the warmth in the night, I pulled my headphones on the music drowning out the world letting me escape.
Strange that I cannot remember what the song was, yet I remember the two teenage girls behind me, perhaps it was that they were eating. Guess my need for food at that moment made me realise the seriousness of my situation, I wasn't sure if I could afford to eat. I had the money, but it needed to last till I could get more, the panic slowly rose with each thought, I turned up the music, drowning out even my own thoughts. It worked, was able to stop my unwanted thoughts for a while, I felt the impatience in me, I needed to get away now, tonight. I could not stay here another night, could not risk being taken back, could not go back.
I wanted to be numb, wanted to stop feeling, for the first time since grabbing my things and running, I thought of jay. Not so strange that I associated Jay with being numb, numb to me had become the one thing that stopped me slipping over the edge, jay provided it in many ways. Mostly would be drugs, would take enough mixtures, smoke enough and drink enough to start to numb my mind from remembering what I didn't want to. There were other ways he made me numb, made me not care about anything, all it took was for him to not care. He was a bastard no secret about that, actually sure he likes the name, but it had always been the way with us, cold and uncaring one moment, caring the next. He would give that to me, the cold and uncaring, would make sure I was alone, he was all I had, I gave as good back. Was not his victim, I pushed him to treat me this way many times, knew what buttons to press, and he knew I needed the numb feeling I would feel when I didn't have him to care. Its what I needed its what he gave, love and hate relationship since we were kids, I couldn't help but wonder if he would care that I was gone, and I would not be coming back.
I finally got to the front of the queue, feeling as though I had been there for hours, in truth it had been around 20 minutes, a good way to describe relativity I guess. My request for a ticket was simple, managed to stutter only once, I wanted a one way ticket on the next available bus that was leaving the city. That Bus would take me to Northampton, further away from the hell I was escaping, closer to a different kind of hell.
Last edited by MarkL15, 11/16/2003, 12:41 pm
---
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
Goo Goo Dolls - iris
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11/16/2003, 12:33 pm
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MarkL15
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Re: A different kind of hell
Take me away from here
I soon found my seat on the coach, hate the way coaches are designed, built in a way to block you in, the seats are higher than normal and cramped. I placed my bag next to me, determined no one would sit next to me, needed to keep all escape routes clear, silly thinking, seeing as the vehicle would be moving should I feel the need to run. I did, still had that edge, that need to run, I tried to calm myself down by watching the boarding passengers, meeting their wary gaze. I had no worries, no one would want to sit next to me, not that I blame them, not that I cared.
Most people where holiday makers, taking a vacation, visiting relatives, mostly family and elderly folk, I must have stuck out like a sore thumb, but then I always had. I watched the family across the aisle, watched, not listened, didn't have to listen, can tell so much by a persons body language and facial expressions. Had always had this obsession with watching people, watching the other kids, the teachers, my parents, always watching, never joining. It was strangers that I loved to watch the most, guess it was analysing, never even knew that word back then, but that's what I did, analysed peoples actions. Let myself build a personality and profile for a person just by watching them for a while, always reasoned peoples actions. Still do that, without realising it, I analyse, ever sat on a bus and just watched everyone, or just one person, easy to analyse without realising it, easy to judge. Try to never judge, have been on the receiving end of people making snap judgements too many times.
School had always been hard because of that, kids decided they hated me, because I was quiet, different, only had a best friend because it was forced on us by our mums who were close. I didn't fit, never would, not sure what age I realised that, but I guess my younger self knew even though I cannot remember that age, as clear as I should.
My heart jumped as the engine started and we began to move, my whole body screaming to run, to get off the coach. I had got lost in remembering, had failed to notice the signs that we would be moving, had not had the chance to calm myself. I sighed deeply heart hammering away, damning myself for getting lost in memories, that was me the daydreamer. Was Jays name for me, among many other names which were less nice than that one. Jay didn't daydream, he was too involved in the world, had many friends, I envied him at times for that, hated the fact his friends where the ones who bullied me for years, even though he never knew, still hated him for that. Would hate how he laughed with them, was what I would see when they beat me up, I wasn't one to fight back, don't get angry unless pushed, three of them against me made sure I didn't try to fight back. Would just take it, all the time in my mind seeing jay and the fact that he was friends with these idiots, I never told him, he found out by chance of stumbling across us.
The voice over from the driver boomed around the coach and I turned my music up higher, not caring when the next stop would be. My eyes drifted back to the family who between them were causing more noise than the drivers voice. The two kids were around 4 and 8 two girls, two sisters who seemed to strongly dislike each other, this had the mum shouting and the dad rolling his eyes. Saw many eyes on them, elderly people tutting at her for raising her voice at the girls, I smiled at that, people judge so quickly. The youngest girls cries drew attention she had knocked her can of pop, and cut her mouth, screaming in terror at the sight of blood. Change was amazing to see, the mum just held her close as the dad abandoned the newspaper to help calm the little girl and the big sister quickly joined in, they talked about what they were going to do on the holiday. Wasn't long before she was smiling and having promises made of many treats she would get, they all smiled, could not believe any smile was fake. Always interesting to see a family work, to see them pull together to make something right, even if most of the time they are separated and at war with each other, when it counts they are there.
I turned to look out the window, feeling like I was intruding on this families connection, I wasn't part of that, I let the music drown out the laughter which would turn to raised voices and shouting within five minutes. I watched everything pass by the sun shining in made me remove my jacket once more, my hand instantly covering the area the man had grabbed me. I shook my head and looked, not sure what I was expecting, probably a bruise of some kind, was not used to being touched and not being hurt afterwards. There was no bruise, not there at least, was some cuts, not the cuts you get from falling over, or being hit too hard. No these cuts where fine lines, straight, surgical, looked like they had been done with perfect precision. I smiled at that, they had been done with careful precision, with scissors usually or a knife, whatever came to hand, to my hand. I ran a finger along the red skin, the cut was surrounded by a few others which had faded with time, the other arm held the same sight. Though most are not noticed, they fade into my pale skin, and there are not that many, I was always bruised and scarred enough to give myself too many of them.
I had done it to myself, cut slowly at the soft tender skin, only ever enough to draw a tiny trickle of blood, only when I needed release that I could not find. Remember the first time clear as day, my finger ran over the first one. I had made it to the bathroom, I looked at myself, didn't recognise who I was, didn't see myself staring back. Was a stranger staring back, with cold hard eyes that held unshed tears, breathing coming in short shallow breathes due to what was likely a cracked rib. I looked as the blood fell from my nose, made no attempt to stop it, looked at my swollen eye and lip and felt my body shake from suppressing the tears. I would not cry, was not allowed to cry, but crying was my only release, something I hadn't done for years. I watched in slight horror and understanding as the stranger slowly cut into himself, watched the bright red trickle down his arm and I looked down. Realization dawned that it was me, I dropped the scissors in shock, but the shaking had stopped, I felt calm as I washed away the blood under the shower. Wasn't till I was drying the skin that I looked at the red cut and felt guilt, but at least I looked in the mirror and saw me, I wasn't his to control, I controlled myself. Guilt always followed each cut, but so did the calm and the feeling of being in control, never cut myself since I ran away, guess I had the control I needed in my life.
When we finally arrived hours later, I realised just how much control I had over my life at that point, I would control everything I did. Instead of happiness I felt dread, as I stepped off the coach into the dark night, watching others be greeted by loved ones. I walked straight by, knowing no one would be there for me, no only had myself to rely on now, I found a bench and sat down hugging my knees as I watched the stars, I wouldn't sleep tonight, so I just watched the stars, tired of everything in this world, and I couldn't help but wonder if anyone would ever take me away from here.
---
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
Goo Goo Dolls - iris
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11/29/2003, 8:43 am
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MarkL15
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Re: A different kind of hell
Leaving myself behind
I walked for what seemed like hours, strange place strange faces, not knowing where I was going, not caring, just wanted to out run myself and stop being me. I had thought to buy food but the sick feeling that had settled in my stomach and refused to move would not allow me to eat. It was easy to recognise this was not a town where homeless people were welcome. Faces regarded me with fear, disgust, pity, I saw each look but never acknowledged it, I felt like I was watching me from a far, they were looking at that stranger, not me, I never made the association.
Through most of the clouded thoughts I knew I need to leave that town, for many reasons, needed to keep moving. If I stayed in a small place too long I would be noticed, knew I needed to fade into the background become a face that you never remember, just another endless face among many. To do that I knew I needed to be in a crowd, a crowd which would make me a nobody, someone that no one took any notice of. So I left, moving from town to town, never staying longer than a day and a night. I walked for the most part, hitched for the rest, many truck drivers were willing to give me a ride. The size of them I'm sure they had no fear of me, some were nice, others were not. They got me to a different place each time and that's all I cared about, never took much notice of the places I went to, I knew the general direction would take me to London. Somewhere to disappear to become no one and maybe then I would feel again, maybe I wouldn't, but at that time I didn't care either way.
Days passed like this, I had soon adapted to living rough, I would walk at night, never found sleep at night, if there was no one to give me a ride I would just walk. It kept me warm in the biting cold and at night my head would be clear for a short time, which would allow me to plan things. Priorities changed, my day became filled with buying food that would last two days but cost next to nothing. I never felt hungry, would only eat when I got griping pains in my stomach, even then the food was never much, but was enough. The sun allowed me to stop and get some sleep, but even then it was short rest that was interrupted by the noise of everyday life and my need to keep moving, to not be found.
I was fairly sure that over this time I had become adapted to living on the streets, but in truth I hadn't, the numb feeling allowed it so I made through each day without much thought. That numb can only last so long, the bodies defence soon fades and reality sets in. I had been dropped of one day in a town that I had no desire to know its name, I had on desire to stay longer than to use the service stations rest rooms to clean up before moving on. The bathroom was not the best but I had seen worse, funny how colours stay with you, was that horrid sickly green that covered the walls. The room was empty and I was glad, I went about cleaning away two days of dirt the best I could.
I never saw the blow coming, I had always been more aware of my surroundings, always ready for that unexpected blow to come. The weeks of numbness had dimmed my awareness, I heard more than felt my head connect with the mirror in teh bathroom. I heard the shatter of the mirror and wondered briefly if it was my skull, part of me hoped it was. I would have been happy to slowly fade into unconsciousness and never wake up. However it wasn't my skull shattering, just the mirror, the blood was no doubt from my head, I remember laughing softly at the idea it was the mirror bleeding. That was when the next blow came a kick to my stomach that made me choke, laughter died instantly on my lips. I barely made out there was two of them, I felt rough hand grab me and drag me up, I wasn't small for my age, but I found myself overshadowed by two guys obviously older and bigger than myself.
I tried to focus on them, my head spinning, I felt the other guy move behind me to hold my hands, probably thinking I would fight back, though I had learnt long ago not to fight back, but they didn't know that I had figured they had took whatever I had in my bag, not that it was much and where checking me for anything of any value. The guy behind my pulled my arms tightly whilst the other ran his hands over my pockets searching for anything. I chanted in my head to stay calm to just let them take what they want to not freak out. But the panic was there the adrenaline rushing through me again, fight or flight and I wanted to run just needed to be away from them. My whole body shook with the effort to not fight back, until his hands slid into my pockets, making me lose control bucking and kicking telling them to get the **** away from me.
The surprise almost worked in my favour, but I was still just a 13 year old kid and they weren't. I remember each blow that came from them both, I blocked out most of what they said, but could tell they were angry at me for daring to fight back, I should have just did as they said. The pain didn't connect with my thoughts, my heart just pounded heavily in my chest as I was thrown to the floor. I wanted to move to run, but had no way to do that, the helpless feeling overwhelmed me but with one last kick each they left and I felt thankful. Strange how you can feel thankful after having the crap beaten out of you, but I was. I had got lucky I kept my money in an inside pocket in my jacket which they hadn't checked, I didn't have much, but it was enough for me to get a room for the night.
It was a while before I was able to move, I was thankful no one came in during that time, I didn't want to go to hospital, one look at me and I know that's where I would have ended up. I looked bad, but I knew that once the blood was washed away it would only be a few superficial, well the pain wasn't but I had dealt with these injuries before. I had managed to get rid of most of the blood and make myself look decent enough so I could rent a room for the night. I spent some time slipping in and out of consciousness before seeing to my injuries and cleaning myself up, was used to this, this is what I knew. It was at that point the haze lifted, since I had ran I had been living inside myself, disappearing from the world and I had nothing to keep me grounded. I had nothing to keep me connected to reality, pain was real, pain is what had kept me grounded over the years, pain stopped me completely shutting off into a world of my own. I knew pain, knew how to respond, pain made me feel again. I felt a rush of emotions over take me, emotions I had held back. I sat on the bed in a rundown hotel drew my knees under my chin and I realised just how terrified I was, I was 13 alone and had no idea what I would do next.
The tears filled my eyes, but even at that point I could not, would not let them fall, my hands shook as I felt for the pocket knife in my bag. As I ran the blade across my skin and watched the blood fall I did not feel the usual relief, only more desperation. It was a time that stood still for me as I looked at my wrists the veins so vulnerable. It took me a while to register the blade along one wrist, I slashed across wanting it all to be over, but the knife was not sharp enough, it still cut into my skin leaving a nice sized gash but it would not kill me. realisation hit, I was trying to kill myself, horror struck me more than anything, how could I do that to, I stopped dead in my thoughts, who would I be hurting by leaving? there was no answer, no list of names. Only one person stood out as one who would possibly care, Jay would, he was the only one who cared, but even he didn't care enough. That was one of the lowest points in my life, I sat bruised and bloody on a bed blood dripping from an already healing gash in my wrist. Head hits strange places when in that place, for some reason I wondered what my dad would say if he could see me now. Part of me even then allowed myself to wonder if he would care, if there would be this miraculous change in him, like in the films, and he would tell me it was ok that I was ok, that I was loved, that he loved me. The picture in my head of my dad and the thought of his voice bought back another memory, no soft spoken words, words of hate of anger.
' You little bastard what the **** have I told you? don't you listen? stop those tears you pathetic loser, you think those tears will help do you? well do you? I said stop ****ing crying, your weak, its time you learnt that tears help no one, get up, I said get up'
I sat on the bed flinching as every word hit my memory, I felt every blow he had delivered with those words, I held my hands over my ears, the blood covering my hair, trying to stop those words coming through but they still did, not sure who long I sat there tears in my eyes, but they would not fall. Part of me wanted that numbness back, to continue on as only half a person, my head was flooded with doubt and fear, of who I was, what I would do and what would become of me. I had always been a loner, and the last few years had meant me being alone on a lot of occasions. But I sat on the bed hands still pressed firmly to my ears my knees drawn up under my chin and I had never felt so desperately alone, and I wanted with all my heart for it to all end. I realised then that when it did all end I would be alone, completely alone and that was when I felt the part of me that believed I would always be loved die.
The next day when I left the hotel, moving slow due to injuries, I left a part of myself behind in that room and I was certain I would never find him again, but I refused to realise that i was leaving a part of myself behind.
Last edited by MarkL15, 12/31/2003, 10:56 pm
---
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
Goo Goo Dolls - iris
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12/31/2003, 10:53 pm
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MarkL15
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Re: A different kind of hell
Watching you sleep
I had been walking for around two hours, eager to escape that place, part of me worried that those guys would come back for more. I tried to hitch but was mostly unsuccessful, which wasn't surprising considering how I looked. I had managed to get my clothes washed over night an wash away the blood and dirt under the shower
I managed to catch a lift eventually, a truck driver called Hank, couldn't help but smile at his name. Some names just suit people so much, they are there name, he was a Hank, completely. He was a massive man, in weight as well as build, a beer gut that lead to an image of him being a man who lives in his local pub when not at work or home. Though he was not a hard man, despite his size he had smiling eyes and a friendly voice. He spent some time talking to me, I learnt quite a lot about hank, it was good to listen to someone for once it blocked my own thoughts out. Hank was a nice guy he adored his three kids and two grandchildren and was madly in love with his wife. He liked to talk and I was more than happy to listen for the two hours journey. It wasn't till we hit the town I was headed for that he tried his Samaritan bit, asking me what I was doing all alone, that it was dangerous. I remember smiling, though it was the last thing I wanted to do. Though we all do that, false smiles and false laughter, but its more bitter than false, like you cannot do anything but smile sadly or laugh bitterly. people all to ready excuse a smile and a laugh for happiness, as much as you can cry tears of happiness you can laugh and smile for pain and hurt. I did smile, fairly sure he saw it for what it was a bitter smile, too old to be on my lips, a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. I shrugged and my eyes met his for a second and he knew it was no use, I wasn't sure what he saw in my eyes, I have to figure they looked dead or lost, that he knew no words would make any difference.
As he stopped to let me out he handed me some money, I took it and gave him a smile and managed to stutter a thank you out. He nodded and smiled and I knew that night he would go home and pull his teenage daughter into a hug, she was a little older than me from what he had said. I knew he would hold her and thank god that she wasn't me, that she was safe and not on the streets. I also knew that because he didn't have to look in my eyes everyday I would become a distant memory. The worry he had for me was real, but fleeting, like you worry for all the victims of abuse, or the kids in third world countries. If you don't have to look at it each day, you are able to ignore it, until it directly effects those you love or yourself. I was glad Hank would forget me, though I never forget. I remember the name of his children, grandchildren and wife, I remember how his family would take two weeks vacation to the coast and that his wife made the best apple pie every Sunday. I knew him for two hours and I can repeat his conversation as though it had just happened. He was the first person since I had ran who didn't treat me like I was no one, the first person to actually talk to me. For a little while it restored my faith in people, which I had lost over time, not seeing anything but the pain people caused. Hank however was different, there was some good in him and it was there for all to see, that is why I remembered him, though no doubt I am not even a faded memory to him. But I like to think I will never forget anyone who comes and goes, even those that are fleeting and cause pain and I don't think I ever will.
The first thing that hit me was hunger for the first time in weeks I felt the hunger and that sick feeling though still there was lessened. That's what took me to the small cafe, though I felt like I could eat the entire menu I ordered a bowl of cereal toast and coffee. I had to reason that these past weeks I had gotten used to eating small amounts of food and if I suddenly started to eat a lot I would probably be sick and would also start to expect large meals. One of the things that I realised in the few hours I had walked before Hank gave me a ride was that I needed money. I had enough to last me about two more weeks if I slept on teh streets and ate hardly anything. It wasn't till I got bought my breakfast that I took in my surroundings and took note of the other occupants of teh small cafe. There was an elderly couple on my right near the window, the older woman berating her husband for his choice in food. It seemed he had ordered every bit of fatty food he could get off that menu and she was not at all pleased with him. I imagined that was pretty much how they were with one another, she constantly nagged him and he just smiled and did it his way anyway. Though there was no mistaking the concern or love in her eyes, or the adoration he held for her despite the nagging. There was a middle age man, who looked a lot like Hank to my left, reading teh paper as he ate his bacon sandwich, his stomach showed that he had more than likely had one too many bacon sandwiches in his time. I figured he was a truck driver much like Hank, sometimes people are easy to identify., they have certain mannerisms that scream about who they are.
That's when my eyes fell on teh two teenage boys almost sitting directly in front of me, but both facing each other the table between them with food alike to what I was eating. They were both either younger than me or the same age as me, though both small one looked a bigger build than the other. The shorter boy had light brown skin with dark brown hair highlighted by teh sun, I couldn't help but see him having Romanian gypsy blood in him. His taller friend was much paler than him yet still had brown skin that looked tanned and weathered not natural like the shorter boys. his light brown hair made even lighter by the sun pointed to teh fact that he was naturally pale. My eyes were drawn to them as they had an aura about them, it was like watching two people so in tune with each other no speech was needed. The smaller boys head turned and his eyes met mine, I was struck by how old those eyes were, they did not belong to a teenage boy. His head turned back to his companion, no words were shared yet the older but also looked at me our gazes locking for a second. Both had eyes that held knowledge beyond there years, I was struck by just how old those eyes were. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, if that is true then these two possessed souls older than their bodies. I watched as they finished their breakfast and left neither if them saying a word but seeming to know the movement of the other. I shook myself out of my trance, finishing my own breakfast not sure what I was going to do about needing money.
I walked down teh street as the sun shined hurting my eyes and I felt the hand grab me and pull me down an alley. I instantly started to fight, not believing my luck that this was happening again, then my eyes fell on the boy from the cafe. I felt comfort as I looked at him, teh taller boy was the one holding me, but his grip lessened. Strange that the two of them standing didn't make me feel threatened, that when the taller one spoke asking if I was looking for work. I barely managed to ask what kind of work, before he talked again a smooth confident voice telling me to meet them here tonight at 6. They left as quickly as they came, not waiting for my agreement, knowing iw ould be here at 6 and i would, i needed money. Though I should have been feeling anything but calm, I did feel calm, I felt no threat from them. It was in a daze that I found the park bench, sitting down, realising I could not walk like usual I had to stay here and I could stay, for a little while at least. I needed money and they were offering work, nothing bad about that, right? I think I convinced myself not to worry over it. As I sat my head resting on my knees that were drawn up to my chest. With the heat shining down I felt my eyes slip shut and my brain close off, sinking into a deep sleep. I never saw the figure come sit next to me and watch me sleep.
Last edited by MarkL15, 1/11/2004, 8:52 am
---
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
Goo Goo Dolls - iris
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1/10/2004, 8:50 pm
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