Death always looks down from above.
Decay always starts from within.
Psychopaths see easy prey.
Normal people don't want to deal with a weakling.
I must be cautious. What do they all want from me?
They are worried about me, and allowing them to hurt me will set them at ease.
"Come join us!"
"Where are you?"
"You're one of us, aren't you?"
No!
I don't want to be one of you!
I want to be with sanes!
I... I'm ready! You can hurt me! I allow everything! If you want, I can break my arms, I'll let the teeth of the gears crush my head, I...!
("But I don't need it! Just go on your way...")
Faceless urges of a born-wronged.
I always knew that my soul was deficient, so why can't I just give in?
"You are doomed not to be."
"You are nauseating."
"What makes you think you can be reflected? You are so inadequate."
I am inadequate. Barbed wire ensnares my limbs and torso, its tendrils biting into my flesh. Death lifts me, and I scream in agony as barbs tear through skin and muscle, gnawing at bone and skull, piercing my brain. A fountain of pus erupts from my mouth, silencing my cries. My eyelids remain frozen, pupils darting wildly, trapped in their sockets. An embrace. A prison.
The crimson-red aurora stretches across the sky like the smile of a beloved. Her thousands of eye-like stars are fixed upon me.
“I love you,” Death whispers.
“I know,” I reply in my mind, looking down at my maimed body, “I know you love me, because you cause me so much pain…”
The glow in the sky spreads in all directions like magma; thus Death is flooded with the most tender laughter.
I laugh too, because I can't help laughing when I see others laughing. The reflex of happiness, drenched in pus and tears. My eyes and chest are exploding, but I keep grinning in a silent plea.
"Enough... I beg you, enough...
Please, stop...
Please..."
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