Sometimes I wonder what people think of me. No one ever really says bad things about who I am. Maybe it's because I'm sweet. So sweet that no one has anything bad to say about me. But I know that isn't the case.
It's because I'm so sweet people feel bad about the negatives they see in me. They feel bad, because they know I'm just a sweet, innocent boy, and even if they end up doing it anyway, they don't want to hurt me.
But that's just a front.
So then there's the rest. They know me for who I am, the lies I never tell, the truth no one ever cares to see. They understand that deep, dark side of me so well that they hate it. They can see me for the terrible person I truly am inside, and they know that my twisted, rationally immoral, logical mind contemplates and understands my own decisions too well to be dismayed.
I'm too corrupted to be hurt.
But they don't know that it's only another front.
There's an innocence inside me that I can't describe. That few people can believe. That I have yet to even understand. Almost everyday, it kills me slowly from the inside, as I derive more and more pain from my thoughts and observations. It is an innocence of hurt, that I can't stop or explain or rationalize, and it flows endlessly from a constant source... a source I dedicate my entire life to identifying.
Maybe this is a front as well. If it were, I wouldn't know. Sometimes I wonder what the final front will be. If it will ever come. But I know it doesn't matter. I'm waiting for a train. But I don't know where I hope it will take me.
