Words.
Cuts.
Wounds.
Sure they hurt.
But they can't kill me.
Go ahead.
Take a gun.
Shoot my head open.
I'll be dead.
But not entirely.
My soul is still very alive.
My soul is not dead.
Things hurt.
But things don't kill.
Nothing can kill me.
Only I can.
And I will.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
When I do.
Secrets will be revealed.
By the ones I used to care for.
But I no longer do.
Go ahead.
Shoot me.
A step closer towards death.