"You make me laugh until I die, Can you think of any better way to choke?" - 'Glory' by Bastille
I'm a deeply broken individual. My youth was full of emotionally shattering, earth sundering traumas. The walls around my inner feelings are a thick and tightly woven textile. Any body that may attempt an expedition into the sanctum finds the path very torturous. I sit alone in my darkened grove of oak and hemlock, with the noises of the outside world dulled to an imperceptible whisper in the leaves. This is the only sanctuary away from the rancorous and corrosive demons that prowl just outside its walls. They prey upon anyone who tries to reach me. They rape and corrupt the knights and peasantry alike, transforming shining armor into gore drenched Serpentine and linen rags into smoldering coals. I have a modicum of control over the monsters. I can command them away, at least in the short term, but they always skulk back eventually. I watch the horrors eviscerate the things I care about and people I would like to touch. I am seemingly unable to prevent the destruction, however. I fear that if I called off the beasts, that were the suiters to reach me, they would only be let down by what they uncover. A valiant and arduous battle having been fought for the equivalent of common carbuncle rather than an exquisitely rare ruby. Resentment is the only rational thing I could see coming of the efforts....
Sometimes I lament before the events even begin. I spy something special riding in upon the sun's rays, and know that the inevitable scene will be a new pain to carry. Each second, and with every closing acre, my heart cries out for something or someone to stop them before they make a choice they shouldn't. Someone make it stop... I'm clearly not worth the effort... but the textile wall obscures that fact. My walls, constructed to protect myself from hurt, generate so much collateral destruction . ...
I'm a deeply broken individual. My youth was full of emotionally shattering, earth sundering traumas. The walls around my inner feelings are a thick and tightly woven textile. Any body that may attempt an expedition into the sanctum finds the path very torturous. I sit alone in my darkened grove of oak and hemlock, with the noises of the outside world dulled to an imperceptible whisper in the leaves. This is the only sanctuary away from the rancorous and corrosive demons that prowl just outside its walls. They prey upon anyone who tries to reach me. They rape and corrupt the knights and peasantry alike, transforming shining armor into gore drenched Serpentine and linen rags into smoldering coals. I have a modicum of control over the monsters. I can command them away, at least in the short term, but they always skulk back eventually. I watch the horrors eviscerate the things I care about and people I would like to touch. I am seemingly unable to prevent the destruction, however. I fear that if I called off the beasts, that were the suiters to reach me, they would only be let down by what they uncover. A valiant and arduous battle having been fought for the equivalent of common carbuncle rather than an exquisitely rare ruby. Resentment is the only rational thing I could see coming of the efforts....
Sometimes I lament before the events even begin. I spy something special riding in upon the sun's rays, and know that the inevitable scene will be a new pain to carry. Each second, and with every closing acre, my heart cries out for something or someone to stop them before they make a choice they shouldn't. Someone make it stop... I'm clearly not worth the effort... but the textile wall obscures that fact. My walls, constructed to protect myself from hurt, generate so much collateral destruction . ...
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