A moral that matters more

          As the start of my end arrives, I am asked why things had to be like this. An elaborate request at the hand of my enemy; a question that I no longer know how to answer. Things here were never good, and though feeling trapped and abused since my first glance out of the womb, I lie here amused by the memories. A woman who once had a child; the very woman who, that day, brought me into a world that once held hands with the stars, was never mother, nor a friend. My father was here, but he was never present. One day we watched cartoons together on the couch, and the next, a body so hollow, was forgotten by its soul. There are secrets here that I require answers to. If I don’t find the truth, they’ll get to me next. And now you know why I can never leave.