Goes back to Paarthurnax:
“Which is better?
To be born good?
Or to overcome one’s own evil nature,
Through great effort?”
A den of evil.
The cryptid willing to bathe the world,
In blood.
Sworn to pacifism.
Art,
Instead of conquest.
Tearing the wings from my back,
White feathers soaked in blood.
Fallen seraphim,
Fighting Abrahamic gods,
Or pantheons,
Simultaneously.
“No gods,
No kings,
Only man.”
The foolishness of pride,
Dosed in lethal amounts.
I’ll fight myself bloody,
To never be that monster,
Or beast,
Ever again.
Demons pulled from display.
Chained,
Locked,
In Titanium cages.
What little good I have,
Is dust across solar winds.
I’ve been grasping at it,
For centuries.
Reborn,
Forever.
Victim of Samsara.
Defining ourselves,
In grayscales.
Antivillains & antiheroes.
Dancing across the edges,
Of guillotines.
I do not fear death,
For many reasons.
Fear myself,
Most of all.
Dancing Across The Edges of Guillotines.
