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Words.

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.
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