I always hated mornings.
Even when I was a four-year-old—naive and curious little boy.
Waking up to the same damn world that never understood s**t about me. The sunlight? It felt like a f*****g burning light, burning through my skin, exposing every twisted thought I tried to keep hidden. Other kids—those little morons—laughing and running around like life was a goddamn fairy tale.
I watched them from the shadows, always disgusted and bothered by something I couldn’t understand.
I wasn’t like them. Never was. Never would be.
They were the worst. That’s when I had to play nice. Smile, nod, pretend to give a s**t about their useless lives. It made me sick. Every fake grin felt like swallowing small shards of glass.
Even my teacher had to call my parents to the school just because I smas
