Why does it seem that life is but a dream? For only a few times throughout this wretchedly exuberant realm have I experienced joy. I’ve watched others savor the milk and honey as I starved, an orphan to Love and Freedom. It is apparent to most, that this life is contractictory in itself. To die, you must have lived. To hate, you’ve once known love. To deceive, you must know truth. And for these things I am proof. I’ve been in front of the gun just as many times as I have pulled the trigger. There are no victims in life, just opposites I suppose. Like magnets, we attract.