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I sit here, trying to sort my feelings about myself, my situation, and everything else, but little comes to mind. My emotions feel crafted, like so much steel; poured, shaped, constructed into a monolith that not even I can infiltrate. With its impermeable exterior, what can exist within? I tell myself what I want to hear, then I build my emotions to create the perfect situations. Love me, I think, yet I cannot say I entirely love myself. So much pain, so much fear, yet my resolve holds true. It cannot feel the terror of the black spires that threaten to consume me, but can blind determination survive the darkness? What would I see should its black surface shatter? Could my sanity be the price of peace? Would I lose an intrigral part of the machinery, or is it that the elysian fields of my mind fled long ago? What is it I am searching for? |
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| I seem to have all the answers, yet their meanings elude me. To see the prize, to have all the keys to all the doors. Yet, they remain cold, silent, and unyielding, esclating the war to which I see no end. There is no retreat, no truce I can create. It is a feud to the death. Death of what? My resolve crushed the fear of such silly things, much as the deeps destroy the foolish. Then out of the depth of my courage rise the glistening towers of my fears repulsing my strength. Can the waters corrode this abomination? That I cannot say, yet I feel something, as if these ebon towers contribute to the force that seeks to destroy them. If so, what would become of me? |
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