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Life started through her cold beats, which fostered itself into a furious storm, to which i have to thank for my weathered character.  I am in essence the reflected exposure of what she has blessed me with, anger, frustration dissatisfaction...  

In her wake, lies not her destruction to reflect upon, but mine.  I am the darkness she dared not embrace, I am the humility she enjoyed, I am the pain she hid from.  Like a child's blood curdling scream, I send shivers down the back of those who have come to appreciate me.  For those who have had the strength to appreciate me, have also come to appreciate my dark and mechanical way of absorbing their strength, for me to adapt and reform just as a parasite would.

Sometimes i fear myself, looking at the positions i climb socially, whilst i adorn my sheep's skin.  Slowly knocking down my adversaries, each with an approach reformed more appropriately than the last, I wonder where does it stop?  How do i stop?  What do i want?

I know enough to know I have a desire, hidden not just to the world but to me, that can only be satisfied by me growing, over complicating this mask that has become me and fulfilling my darkest deed.  This mysterious desire feels as though it can only come close to complete, but never to the point where total satisfaction is present.  I starve and destroy for something I myself do not understand.

I compare myself to the world and I dig for answers in history, but all I have come to realise is...  I'm a monster.  I feel alone, I feel as though my thought has had no precedence.  I wonder who there is to confide in, but am also left with the question of how can i defend myself from their strengths, what can i steal from their character.  I look back to her and wonder if there were any solutions to begin with or if everything has taken a natural course.  

When her beats stop, the storm will only get stronger, but my hope is like all storms; It comes to an end.