If there were a way to see inside of me it would look like a storm. A tornado. A tsunami. There is too much rolling around inside with no way to get out. I could scream and yell and bitch and rant and not a one in the world would hear me. I'm ripping apart and my screws are coming lose and soon there will be nothing left of me but shreds. Paper in a fire. Ash in the wind. I'm not damaged, I'm conflicted and I'm perceived all wrong. Maybe there is just no right way to interpret me. I'm wrong. It's wrong. All wrong.