have i always been so wicked?
i look back through three decades and three years. in every era the telling high water marks of unabated rage remain. how has no one being managed to notice these malicious flares erupting from my soul?
silence. the thick, palpable silence cloaking my black heart invisible has afforded me sanctuary.
i was not abused, i was not neglected, i was not scorned. i was shown the wide way to the light, encouraged to follow the supreme example of selflessness and sacrifice for the good of myself and all. feigning love and light came so easy, truly feeling either i have found nigh impossible.
it has forged me from within, this raging fire fed not by air or light or love, but by darkest intent. maniacal cravings that have no place in what should be a soft mother's heart mock me from the wells of my eyes, my teeth grind for want of flesh, my hands itch to maim.
to what end shall i employ this great black passion? i have walked alone so long now, leashing myself with a noose lest i give way and irrevocably rout myself from the comfortable anonymity silence has afforded.
how much longer can i sustain this cover? in the end will i end myself to save all? or will i end all to savor myself?
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