Act One.
I have been repugnant to the, shall we say ethics(?), involved in my being in the current situation.
I sit here, and watch it fall. I can't help but be slighty amused. I am nothing more than the Prince of a burning city.
I am nothing more than a power hungry, spoiled child. I realize this, but I don't really care. (I'm the villian, remember?) I'm not going to make any moves to change this. I'd rather sit and comment on how those that are in pain could of helped themselves.
Certain people -- people who I care not to mention here -- are in such pain. People who I could help by waving my hand. But I refuse to. Maybe because I'm too bitter, maybe because I have an sick sort of compassion and want them to do it on their own. Either way, it all falls back on my strange, erratic, inconsistent behaviour. I have grown to hate everything, and become nothing more than a bitter, cold, distent, illmoraled man. And what the true evil about it is that I do not care.
I finally have come on the last stretch of "things to come" and I still feels as alienated as ever. I suppose that's why I tried so hard to exude my individuality. I was born with high cheek bones and large eyes; I have no disernable race. I'm not Japanese enough to look Japanese, and not white enough to look white. It sounds silly, but things like that matter here. It was one of the reasons I was beat up so much. Just another example of this baka bullshit.
My bitter mind falls upon the arrogent, ignorant children that are scattered around my feet. I do not care that you didn't try and save me when my body, heart, and soul were being raped by the entire affair. It does not matter now. What does bother me is the constant droning, your constant insistance that you were somehow my mentor; that if I had been a child, I would be able to stand on my own two feet without warbling, all because of you. Bullshit.
Ha. A cretins views don't really mean much to society, now do they? That is all I really have to offer. So nows the time to take your shot.
I do not mind playing the villian.
Act Two.
Childish hope stings weary eyes. I'm tired of being here.
I fall on dissent, bleeding knees and burning limbs. Nothing really exists here anymore, it is all just pathetic imagry. Something dull and heavy presses against my chest, cuting off my air. It's all just too much. All the stress, all the pain. It's quite pathetic believeing in someone who betrays you time and time again. I'm fucking sick and tired of being betrayed.
I guess in many ways it is my own fault. My fault for thinking I was worth something, my fault for believeing I mattered to someone. I simply am no ones top priority. I should learn my place. I don't really matter. I have no real talent is anything, there really is no point. Do not mistaken this for self-pity; I am simply reevaluating my station. I am just here to serve as a blindly loyal guardian. Just a dog you can kick over and over again that will still obey.
Caustic turmoil is nothing new, I only wish I could learn to grow cold towards it. I would love to ignore the blood matted in my hair, the dull throbbing pain thumping thru my head. I suppose it's unaviodable, isn't it? I should just learn how to accept it, instead of mourning it as if I deserve something better.
I do not mind playing the victim.
These are my sins, and this is my punishment.