Anger

I am angry. I'm sad. It does not make sense anymore. My eyes look different. I thought I was the only one. I thought I had finally won. I thought the fight was justified. I thought that was true. Winners write history. Who is the winner then? Where am I? Where Am I? Is there anything which is mine? The sky was without clouds. I always have been. I want to walk out of this exhibition. This art is more like me. Misery. I'm just a pile of meat, which can hold the bones together.

Why? Why? How? I do not know. In fact, I never knew. In fact, I tried not to know. I can not. Too much.

I had a pencil that had a cap. I thought I could just open the cover and see that the color of his pencils. But it was not.