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To be a human is a sin.
Everything you do is wrong.
You get criticized for doing something for too long.
Whats the point on living anymore?
When they judge everyone.
Culture rich, a heart of flame.
A realm upon seven hills it rose.
Barbarian winds blew strong and cold,
The empire is reborn.
Roma Aeterna!
The spirits reigns, through shifting sands and distant plains.
A world reborn,
all roads lead to Rome.
Roma Aeterna
You see a villain, but I see a person trapped inside.
I wear the mask of indifference, but inside I fight to be understood.
What you call ‘cold’ is a heart wrapped in struggle.
Today feels
Different
And yet
At some point
It will feel
Like
Yesterday
Moving on.
As it stands now
One of us is a fool
It’s probably me
But it might be you
Nothing is personal
It's just your ego
dramatically making it seem
the trash is all over you.
My friends used
To always be around
Good times, bad times
It didn't really matter
Every day was a new
Exciting adventure

Fast forward 10 years
Our group is scattered
All over the world and
We've become merely
Memoirs to reminisce
On my insomnia nights
Realized I don't have any friend left. Did my depression took the best of me? Did I become that dull? Or that's just how being a grown up supposed to be? I really couldn't say...
I never felt more alone.
I wonder what it feels like
to be
human.
Something I have never been and will
never
be.
I wonder what it is like to have a
soul.
Certainly everything must be better when you're human,
right?
Humans look out for each other,
right?
I have never felt like a
monster.
But I know I must be, because people always
told me
I was.
Maybe, if I was human, I would finally deserve
to live.
Maybe, if I was human, I would finally belong, and no one would
hate me
anymore.
My family says to keep it all
inside.
They say humans are the true
monsters.
But that can't be true.
Can it?
Written from the perspective of one of my paras (Necare) when he was young.
Your blood
all
over
me.
Will it ever be enough?
to satisfy?
Cold steel
of the knife
you tried to use
to stab me in the back
covered
in a warm
sticky substance.
Yours,
not mine.
I turn it over
in my hands
as I watch you
bleed out
on the
crimson
tiles.
Why did you think
it would be any
different?
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