I'm the winner of cards I can't play...

"Fuckin' A," I said as I threw away the last of my little. yellow. indifferent.

13 (Lucky) years ago, I vowed that I was done. The simultaneous chipping away of my mask; my mind. They were only partially-responsible for my heart trouble. A good scape-goat nonetheless. I swore the pills off. And when sanity returned all else came crashing down like a Paris Opera House chandelier.

Had my prescription-altered mood drove the sun away? Or was it sucked away by an ill-timed blow job from his home-town friend?

That pain cannot be matched by hours under knives, needles, lasers, drills, and various forms of torture as they constructed my new mask. Still, sometimes as I look into the mirror for some resemblance of my old self, underneath -- I can`t help by feel ugly.