The angle of thought is insipid. Its the instinct; the devil inside me. Most people run from their quarrels. I fight face to face with the enemy, fear will not coexist with my mindset. I have no courage for I am not facing fear, I am a coward in its most dangerous form. Content with dying, but with no plans to do so. I am a vigilante to those who do not question theory.
Develop a sense of distance between all loved ones, I will not be emotionally harmed. Develop the lust for blood, I will not be physically harmed; only turned on. Develop the hatred of others for no reason, but to hold power; Dissolve.
I am elegance. A fortnight to smell the rotting flesh of desperation. Queasy from the hunger for blood. Locked in a basement of a raging orgy of violence. Caged while the cum of hate drips from above; should I taste it? Peer pressure evolution; unattainable black and white perfection, encrypted by mixed signals. Words become detached from emotion; all communication becomes inexistent.
Sanity is now questionable.