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I am me, not you nor anyone else. I stand on the shoulders of giants and they drink my lamentation, I bear the weight of borrowed fear and turn in my grave wrestling the vicious cycle.

And so with such a heavy burden I roam unto darker nights, may such deliver me into sweet restless dreams.

And no amount of scrying, forethought or contemplation will allow me to arrive to my idealised heaven, to be as is, is to suffer from what we have been given, taken with open arms and ignorance.

So I will rot from within holding it together with marrow and spit daring not to spill a drop as not to taint what lays before me. Such a thing would disgust and turn my stomach. This world can not know my influence lest it deviate from its path.

There is no grudge to hold, as there is none to aim such malice towards but my own foolish gambit.