Have I become so comfortable in my discomfort, so accustomed to dying in my daily living, that I now embody a midnight mask to replace the false cheeriness of my childhood's plight? And what if I am not either or, but both, strands of black and gold that weave the web of my spider's heart?
Excuses, reasons, rationale for motives, there are none. No matter what is said after the fact. For money, for drugs, for a skin’s color, for a preference, for getting ahead, for things, for lack of attention -- Don’t pretend one of those can justify. They are not the enemy.