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After wearing so many masks, he lost sight of who he really was.
They say she's the definition of perfection, not a strand of hair out of place.
The truth, it is said to hurt, but soon cure. If so, then why after raising his voice multiple times was he still in pain? Where was the cure? Where was the comfort in the truth?
Society calls for victims to raise their voices about the matter yet so many voices are drowned out by those with a higher power.
What was the point of trying?
___.___.___.___.___.___
"You know nothing of pain or suffering." He spat as she swiftly turned around, her red gown rising as she did.
"I apologise for interfering with your business, Giordano. If I can be of any help at all, please tell me so as I do wish to perform to the best of my abilities." Carmen smiled, the corners of her eyes lifting.
"Damned bitch." Giordano muttered under his breath before walking away, irked at how she smiled in such a carefree manner while talking about such a serious matter.
As she disappeared around the corner, he walked with a perfect posture down the hallway, smiling at everyone he walked by. Pushing the double doors open he stepped out into his bedroom, struggling to breath as the air refused to reach his lungs. Filled with a sense of hopelessness, his body refused to cooperate, black dots filling his vision as he collapsed onto the ground, wheezing.
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