Between my shadow and my soul

You wanted to know why

Its like strolling across a minefield that you actualy believe is a grassy meadow with calves and mares and hay and all that. And it all explodes into a bloody and painful mess and you cover your face and your fingers are blown off and part of your face is damaged. And you walk around like that until one day some insensitive sod asks what happened to your hands. And you wish you could make a proper fist to break his nose. Its not his fault. But its not your fault. So you blame people for having eyes to notice. And you blame him for asking. Because there's no answer that makes sense to you.