To understand your enemy, you must think like your enemy.
But one must be careful that, when fighting monsters, to not become the monster one is fighting.
And, so, this poses a question.
From each perspective, the other is the enemy.
But who is the monster?
For the other must be careful to not become them.
Or are they both monsters?
:;,

To understand your enemy, you must think like your enemy.
But one must be careful that, when fighting monsters, to not become the monster one is fighting.
And, so, this poses a question.
From each perspective, the other is the enemy.
But who is the monster?
For the other must be careful to not become them.
Or are they both monsters?
:;,

It’s funny
How all I see is the negative
And all you see is the positive
But we’re both looking at the same person.
:;,

“How do you live?”
“To the fullest.”
:;,

I am now a murderer.
There I sit, in my big, blood stained tank top and a pair of gym shorts, red dots cover the expanse of them.
There sits Leo Wilde, his huge mane is dotted and sprayed with red, his huge maw is covered and nearly dripping with blood, his well kept suit is also covered in blood, his white shirt stained pinkish, and his Gryffindor tie with its amazing windsor knot, too, has specks of red on it, his shoeless paws are matted with redness.
There lies Ash Lee, a previously unformed, vague shape of a humanoid, his mouth was unformed, his thoughts were primordial, and we wondered what he would become. I now know. He was destined to become a corpse of my mind, for I killed him when I realized that I should just stick with Leo.
There we are, Ash’s body lying nearly comically spread eagle on the floor, his blood pooling all around him, me and Leo staring at it, terrifyingly awestruck at we have done. It wasn't intended, meant to never happen, because Ash Lee, as it were, was never supposed to be born, he was supposed to just remain in my notes as a possibility to never be sought out. I forced him into creation, and then I forced him into
I can't say it.
Ash Lee will no longer rise promptly at 6:15 AM.
10/5/16
:;,

There he lay, sleeping gently, sleeping quietly
There he lay, awake, rubbing the sleep out of his little eyes with his little fists, blinded by the low sunrise
There he lay, meeting eyes with me, both of us simply staring at each other
Child, sweet boy, little infant, return to sleep, this world is much too blinding, much too loud, much too *****, for something so pure as you.
Do you even know? That someday, 17 years, you will be sitting where I am, perhaps having these same thoughts towards someone born 17 years after you?
That you could be riding an old yellow piece of scrap metal on wheels at 8 in the morning
The sun blinding you
The music pounding in your ears
The good morning text from your girlfriend?
No, no, little one, go sleep, return to your little infantile dream.
This world is too much for you.
It is too much for me.
The only difference is seventeen years.
Close your sweet little eyes.
Seventeen years.
:;,
10:48
9/28/16