I Will Never Give Up If You

They Don't Own Me. If I'm Gonna Die, I Wanna Still Be Me.

There's No Point In Comforting Words, In Telling Her She'll Be All Right. She's No Fool. Her Hand Reaches Out And I Clutch It Like A Lifeline. As If It's Me Who's Dying Instead Of Rue.

The Sensation Inside Me Grows Warmer And Spreads Out From My Chest Down Through My Body Out Along My Arms And Legs To The Tips Of My Being. Instead Of Satisfying Me The Kisses Have The Opposite Effect Of Making My Need Greater.

What Must It Be Like, I Wonder, To Live In A World Where Food Appears At The Press Of A Button? How Would I Spend The Hours I Now Commit To Combing The Woods For Sustenance If It Were So Easy To Come By? What Do They Do All Day, These People In The Capitol, Besides Decorating Their Bodies And Waiting Around For A New Shipment Of Tributes To Rill In And Die For Their Entertainment?

I Go To The Saltwater And Wash Off The Blood, Trying To Decide Which I Hate More, Pain Or Itching. Fed Up, I Stomp Back Onto The Beach, Turn My Face Upward And Snap, "hey, Haymitch, If You're Not Too Drunk, We Could Use A Little Something For Our Skin." It's Almost Funny How Quickly The Parachute Appears Above Me. I Reach Up And The Tube Lands Squarely In My Open Hand. "about Time" I Say, But I Can't Keep The Scowl On My Face. Haymitch. What I Wouldn't Give For Five Minutes Of Conversation With Him.