November 09, 2024
In the hollow sound of dark, I hear the echoes. Too empty on my own, too suffocated with others. It's either resentment towards the world or hatred for my soul. It's for the fear of you or for the wrath of you.
My hands are tied and choices are too awful. My religion says it's not my first time. Long time ago, my incarnate have lived the same paradox. But I am no worshipper. I am the delicate crow hovering on the quivering thread of belief. I have known this world only once, and once is enough.
Yours even as I fear to be
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