...and a futile thing too, futile... all futile. What dreams I had of my mate, of another being looking into these eye, upon this face and recoiling not, but how could that happen for the monster is not in my face, but in my soul. I once thought that if I was like other men I would be happy, and loved. The malignancy has grown you see, from the outside in. and this shattered Image merely reflects the abomination that is my heart. oh my creator why did you not make me of steel and stone... why did you allow me to feel?
Posted on: Mon, 30 Jun 2014 09:05:00 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015