New skin. Just that prolonged misery I'm going through is equilavent to taking a knife and slitting my wrists till my blood goes dry. "Prolonged" is there for a reason. To hell with happiness now. Who cares about love, care and share. As a matter of fact, I don't care anymore. You are there. Physically. But I don't feel your presence mentally. We ain't the same no more. Although the words are there, right in front of me, I don't sense the true meaning behind it. But I can't blame you. I only have myself to blame. I started all this. I wanted to carry on. Who I am is what I have to blame now. Everyone thinks I'm wrong. I suffered and I'm still suffering. I don't care if I'm wrong. I want to change the world. I sacrificed a whole lot. But did you? Here's an answer. No. You seriously cannot blame me for my attitude these days. Angels still have their bad days. I'm sick of giving now. It's now your turn to give.