A million words to change a fate?
A scripted page to warp forever?
Is reality merely a scene by scene endeavor? Directed by a puppeteer with a multitude of curved claws?
Ha, I'd spit in his face, or perhaps shake his hand.
I've mutated the very essence of my being, destroying every little tiny bit of myself and allowing absolutely nothing to take it's place. I'm nothing a higher power could willingly want to control or damn. A nonchalant maverick lost in a mindset void of fear.
Just a broken visage of what one shouldn't be. A coalition of thought and revert progress.
I've ascended evolution whilst simultaneously descended into madness.
A contradiction that still has the morals of a dead man.
What are the use of words anymore when they only go unheard?
If a man sings a requiem to bring back the dead, but no one wants to hear it...
I prefer to be a beast.
Less responsibility that way.
I believe I'm falling into a state of decay. When the choices I made and the path that I've chosen are simply reaching their end and the only thing that will soon remain is the final product.