Thieving Bastard. It won’t die!

I hope this finds you in the best of mind and spirit, gear up reader!

Who the hell taught me how to build great walls, to build steel cages and dungeons?

I want it dead, the child of illness that I’ve bred countless times over.

But it hides in a stronghold cocoon.

This makes me mad with rage and cold with fear!

What made me this way?

This way that knows less and less of what ordinary men play and lay with.

Or did I? On my own?

I might just be broken from the imaginary flights I partake.

I might be thirsty for the juices flowing from the tombs of man made love.

And it won’t die!

It won’t even let me try being something greater than a lesser part of the whole.

It won’t let me love it either.

It won’t die.

It keeps on birthing envy and hatred over the life I’ve seen with my eyes closed.

To dream sets my heart free, but the little child living inside won’t die or even let me feel in control.

I want it gone and damned for the lies it led me through.

I am not maddened by the daily circus life.

I am not crazy from the thrusts of the King of The Forest.

There is a child inside my warm heart, stealing my joy and birthing strife.

Who the hell taught me how to build great walls?

Now I cannot break through and fight the little bastard.

A bastard born from the union of fear and virgin love.

Do you understand me?

I’ve had enough of that little thieving liar.

I want it dead.

But it won’t die.

~Koome Manyara~

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