There's a little secret to the things I do. These secrets are things that you could only dream of attaining in your life. These aren't heirloom secrets, but life lessons.

Life is a harsh teacher, but she knows a few things.

You know, I was like you once. Young, innocent, true to the law. The type of person who would strive, without fail, to follow all the rules the world set out.

I loved being that person. Following the rules brought a simple joy to my heart, of being able to mindlessly follow the rules of the world.

Those simple times were a great time. I remember them with a fondness I usually reserve for sweet childhood memories and even sweeter desserts.

Simple times were never meant to last, however.

I got bigger, taller, and the world mimicked my sudden growth spurt. There were suddenly more things to consider. More things to do, more people to please. All of a sudden, my joy, my beloved faith in the rules and regulations that ran my entire life evaporated like those summer puddles: a fleeting reflection of happier times.

You begin seeing in-between the lines. These people who you think are as pure-hearted as you turn out to be as rotten to the core as the "bad apples" society paints other, "less fortunate" people. Those rules you thought were the sure guide to the world? They were all lies. The wool over your eyes and ears while you're spun in circles for people's amusement.

Everything just falls to the floor. New meaning clash with old, and my...your fragile mind pays the price.

I see you recoil from me. That's fine. Everyone does that when they talk to me.

Where were we?

So I turn the other cheek, like your savior. I'll try the dark side for once, and see where it takes me. Who knows, maybe it'll be better than going good.

For a while, it did. The rules seemed like this ugly, malnourished mistake lying on the road, and I could kick it as much times as I want, to everyone's amusement. Watching it bleed out lies and dreams, painting the concrete black with its viscous, murky blindness, mingling with the paint and war cries that ornamented our enigmatic lives.

There was the fine feeling of rebellion, of casting away the pedestals society set for us, and running away from it all. It was excitement and cheap thrills at 100 miles an hour, and we worshipped it.

It was an empty great time. All the trappings for a good time were there, but nothing great. It's like pudding without the pudd. The essentials were gone!

I crazed for more. I wanted a fucking great time! Why won't you people give me that?

I'm pretty sure you were looking for that once, you pretty little thing. Why, with your microphone and crisp, college branded education, you could be the star of the party! The cream of the crop! Let that tie down, and swing your arms around like it's the end of the world! You've been there! Why don't you try it?

No? You don't want to? You have a job, a tissue paper pay check to look forward to?

Well, that's fine. We all need something to look forward to.

What, me? What do I look forward to?

Let's go back.

You know the reason why I couldn't get a good time? Why I can't get gloriously wasted and sing the everlasting praises of Cthulu to an adoring chorus?

Why can't you lose everything right now, break me out, and talk to me about the great mysteries of the human psyche? I know you've been waiting to hear that. Your half-filled notepad is a huge sign.

Have you written a fanfiction about me yet? If so, you should read it aloud to me. I'd love to hear your voice, with its hills and valleys carry a message through my war-torn battlefields of long gone ideologies.

You haven't? That's a shame. I heard I'd look good in fiction.

But do you know why?

It's all a distraction.

Those loud nights, the paint, the snogging, the alcohol, they were all fucking distractions. Because, after all the wolves were released, the diets sated, the world goes back to its little utopia of rules about as tall as you and me, and heavier than God.

You see? You were never meant to be a rebel for life.

Ooh woo, I'm a rebel just for kicks now...

That's everything I've been through.

No matter how many times we let the monster out to break these chains, the angel keeps bringing us in!

We can never transcend our little palaces of jaded cuneiform tablets, no matter the method! We will keep going back to this world, no matter how wretched we try painting it to be!

Now do you see why I am here? Why I am left in solitary when I haven't done anything in this gilded iron home with bars that praise the sun?

You see, these people: my brothers in arms, they have this magical little thing called direction. They know what to do get there, and they did those things. That's why they're here. With me.

See, you, or what I'd affectionately call the general public, believe that with some time in a concrete block, a person's general direction can be changed, and hopefully for good.

I've seen it happen.

But here's the question.

What do you do with someone who has no direction?

I know what you're thinking. Your little puzzled headlight eyes have popped up. How?

You can't give someone like me a direction. I've tossed all the directions the world has given me into the bargain bin, for the rest of you snobs to dissect and classify as philosophy. I've run the whole gamut.

Now do you see why I'm here?

I've been on both sides. I removed both.

The balancing act, the futility of it all.

You can leave now.

15 minutes with the patient has ended. Please surrender all recording material, whether electronic or written, to the guard in charge, where it will be inspected and returned once finished.

Thank you for visiting.