Father, Mother, Sister, Brother: Where did we go wrong?

This is where I write now, yet I am still censored. The good stuff is in a book I hide away. It is not here.

I like to keep it all like pieces of a puzzle so that the only time things make sense is when they come together, but it's not easy to put interlock it all when nothing was ever 'together' to begin with. It didn't break into pieces, it just came that way.

And ya, I love writing like this; I feel like the fucking Riddler.

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I'm getting a little envious that the worst people get the easiest lives.