Author's Note: I hate it. I hate it all. I hate it and I hate it and I try to tell people but they just don't seem to listen. So what do I do? I go and write it down for a bunch of strangers that don't give a load of bat guano. Go figure.

Why?

It all starts with a thought. Just one thought, it doesn't have to be too big, swimming in the back of your brain. And then this thought, lying dormant or misplaced or pushed aside for so long, begins to grow. It grows and grows and very slowly begins to dominate over the rest of your mind. And then it's always there, hanging in your head like an immense black shadow, distracting you from the things you used to love so much. You try to push it back, thinking it's only a phase, but it remains, too obstinate to be moved. Your mind begins to form all other ideas around this one cancerous thought. And then one question comes to mind.

Why?

Why is it like that? Why is it you that has to see all of the things that are painful? Why is it you that has to feel sorry for yourself while knowing its wrong, causing intense pangs of guilt and selfishness to be pushed into your emotional spectrum? Why isn't it someone else who gets to see the blood and experience all of the death? Why don't you get to forget about all of the bad things and just be happy? Why can't you ever win? Why do you have to be so contemplative and aware of all of the terrible things that go on around you? Why do you have to love so much? Why can't anyone love you back? Why do you build this wall around yourself, refusing to let people in? Why do you open yourself up to people so much, digging yourself into an abyss so deep as to be incomprehensible? Why do you lie? Why do you tell the truth? Why do your parents hate you so? Why do you hate? Why doesn't anybody ever listen? Why do they all lie to you? Why do you lie to yourself? Why do you ruin your own life? Why do you let others ruin it for you? Why are you the only one sinking in a pool of your own blood and tears, too distraught and hurt too really care anymore? And why are you so selfish?

You lock yourself in your room, isolate yourself from any aspect of society, and try to figure out why. You beat yourself stupid looking for the answers that you know deep in your heart your never going to find but you continue to look for anyway. Your world is so close to over, you can almost smell the acrid scent of death in the air, and yet you know you could never die. So you sit and you bleed and you hate and you think and it never gets any better. You talk and you talk and you talk, but nobody ever listens to your incessant ramblings. You know that you're being stupid and selfish, but you can't help yourself, and end up feeling worse for your own thoughtlessness. And still the question persists.

Why?

You sit and you think and you drive yourself to the brink of insanity, leaning precariously over the edge, yet you never get any farther. Nothing else seems to matter except that one question. That one little word that tugs the beginning of every sentence, creating mind bending and pointless conundrums. And then you wonder why your wondering, which just leads to more and more questions, all with the same beginning.

And then another question pops into your head: When?

When is it going to stop? When are you going to cease feeling the way that you do? When are you going to stop thinking that way you do, driving yourself slowly insane? When will it be over? When will people take notice of your pain and give you the love that you want? When will people stop lying? When will you stop lying? When are you going to grow up? When are you going to realise your wrong? When will you stop putting yourself into those black abysses? When will it end? When will you finally be able to rest?

But these questions you can answer. These questions aren't all that hard. When will it end? You know. It's never going to end. It's never going to stop. And having those questions answered only leads you back to the word "why". Eventually you're left with only that word, and nothing else. You stop caring about anything and everything, knowing it wouldn't matter because you would just question it. You're stuck, and you know it, but you can't get out. So why bother? And then yet another "why" question has been born. Why bother? Why care?

There's no point anymore. There never was if you really think about it. People will never change, only pretend to be different for comfort and adaptation. Why bother living if all you can ask is the question "Why?"? I don't understand. I never understood.

And why am I sitting here, the only light emitting from the computer screen, listening to the world, to the rain harshly hit the window, to the angry wind, to the furious thunder, typing up these thoughts that no one will ever care about?

Why?