I am a real bastard sometimes, I can be selfish and cruel and horrible. I have this ability to smell out weakness and exploit it when I feel necessity dictating.
Sometimes I am not good. He is running scared, and I can see it inside of his eyes when I look into them deeply. There is a hesitation not in the word, but in the look. A small resistance when he looks back into mine, the fear of what might be there. That was the first drop of blood. And the silence, the reticence, the walls made out of stone to try and keep me out. Keep my bastard brain out.
It's always midnight and I've always got a pack of wolf cards in my pocket. Stalking, tracking, I fight for what I want, for what I think is my own like a wild animal. I am no longer kind, the coldness of night fuels me but it's wrecked a part of me. I am leaner, stronger, but now there's also a fierceness who wants no ally.
Sometimes I am just not good. But I stopped apologizing.
Hang on tightly, let go lightly.
About Me
- porfiry
- The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break, it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too, but there will be no special hurry.