And sometimes we adopt these casualties as if they were our own, in the darkest of times, during the only thing we know as real. Finally we struggle to give it away but the most painful of realizations is the moment when we understand this is ours to keep. I will open your eyes to the death of innocence. There is a truth in my anger, an outstretched grasping hand. There is little sympathy in this place, and even less understanding. We are all washed as clean as we can get. But save the dirt and praise tomorrow because it all makes no difference.
Do you want me to really show you something? Really? Because I can. But you may not like what you see. If you want me to, I can turn this whole thing inside out and pull what you thought was reality away, piece by broken piece, then maybe, just maybe, you might have something to say.
More from this author can be found at The Stories In Between