But as I'm beginning to realize, who gave me the right to meddle in like that and try to stop a storm that I created?
Why did I defend you, when the world should defend you against me?
Why am I so desperate to claw deep within both our scars and bones, and dig up a past that's so long forgotten? Why am I dead set to beg and pray to whatever God — for him, or her, or it, to save you from the hell I know and have lived?
Because I've always been the bad guy, the villain—but maybe, something changed.
Or maybe because nothing changed in the first place.
I'm still that bruised kid hiding under his bed I keep seeing in my dreams. I'm still the same scarred boy under the sleeves. I'm still the kid who feeds off of the warmth of kindness, the same boy who was your friend.
Maybe nothing changed and I was just hiding past the layers, and layers of walls I've built to protect myself in.
