Again, the feeling that I have nowhere to call my own. Not even here. I thought I was excited to get out of that house. Now I'm filled with doubts, possibly regrets. Regrets. I can't remember the last time I used that word. And now I feel it branded on my forehead. Whisper to me the secret. Of contentment. These fucking jobs, this fucking school, these fucking people--that can't be it. None of this is it. I'm tethered to everything around me. None of it matters. I'm getting angry at it all. I want to slash tires, and scream at the stupid things people say, and rampage my way out of this town or out of this world until I am myself again.

CLICK...POW!