If I’m not defined by the cuts and bruises that line my arms and legs, then what will define me?If the drouse and drag from last night's war for life and death does not explain me, then what will? I know, I am not be the strongest believer, or the most revered christian, but I don't smash people with words colder than ice, or sharper than the knife that digs deep into the scars that show just how much you can wound someone with a few simple syllables strung together and spat from the mouth. If the hate that spews like an ocean of filth from the mouths of the same old broken stone faces that line the halls of this hellish sanctuary, paint the walls with the blood of the struggle that burdens their victims like a bag of bricks weighing them down to the depths that no one could ever comprehend, even if they were there with them themselves, are we crazy? If the creatures that stalk us in our minds, waiting patiently for the break in our guard, hold the chains that choke us and keep us at home away from the world that we walk on from 9 to 5, then does that make us one of them? If I were you, and never answered the countless voicemails that you left me daily, nightly, and everytime conceivably in between, would you be staring down the same gun barrel that haunts my dreams when I take the chance of closing my eyes to look directly in the eyes of the monster that whispers the thoughts that form the blade that prints the barcode of cuts that cover my arms? If all of our souls were cast upon an ocean of storms, would yours be the biggest glowing? Or would it be the frail, weak, spark, that I’ve become. Life is not meant to be lived within the what ifs. But, we never really followed the rules now did we.