Superiority.

And what, I ask, is so qualifying of you? Why do you get all the flaming glory, the barely masked envy-- while I melt into the background, shouting so loudly that I can't be heard?

I don't need you, you know. I don't need any of the lies you spin ever so delicately, you spin them ever so fragile and pretty-- catching us like moths in the glare and dance of a candle's spark. I bleed, you see, not from any choice of my own... but if it is not mine own blood spilt, it will be the blood of those I protect.

You drag her down, and I bite your jugular in a vain attempt to appease the struggling demons inside your heart. Clawing at your skin, trying so hard to get you to see through your slitted eyes that you are hurting her whilst you breathe words of love.

I attack you vircariously, but no matter how vicious my assault, your damage is more. Why do you do it? Is it because of your appearant power over her? Do you feed off of her pain, a vampiric sinner that hates without reason or faults required? I drag you down, destroy the attack that is now, but your words linger devistatingly near, hovering over her shoulder and creeping into her ears.

She follows you again, weeping with joyous pain, and I howl behind my bars, Can't you see?! He's leading you to hell...

You are the devil's own prodigy child... in a smaller sense of the word. You invade all crevices of thought, shrouding the tomb-house with fear and superiority.

And now she's moving away from you. You snarl and leap after her, taking a chunk of her heart with you as I beat you back. This emotional struggle within her is noted and stored away in the back of my mind, more ammunition with which I attack your claims of innocence.

Come closer-- I dare you-- and see what I can do to you. I have sharpened my weapons of mind and bone, and I will take you down should you rear your ugly head here again..._Sanctuary...

--------------------------------------------------------------------

<sub>I do not ask for attention. I do not ask for love. I do not ask for devotion. Yet it seems that people cannot live without knowing every second of every hour that someone has thought about them. Ask me not the reasoning behind this-- I simply ask to be left alone. Traitors and two-faced mercenaries; carpets and haughty roofs.

I am not complaining of this, this is simply a fact. In my last three deviations, I get maybe one or two comments. I get no favorites. I get very few pageviews. I get no friend requests, nor do I ask for them. And guess what? I'm fine with that. Why can't you? This is the internet. Save your devotion for people you can touch, for people who hear the music you hum while you're working. Lives are not meant to be built with one's fingertips.</sub>

_{I am not your heroine. I will not save you. I am your heroin. I will destroy you. And you will come back begging for more.}

This war machine has been retired from the battlefield. It has been placed in a storage to rust and hate mindlessly... waiting for the power to rot or for the need for war machines again.

Rust. Rust. Rust.

Numbness...

And a bitter hatred for mankind.

So weak.

So very, very fragile in their weakness...

Yet create something so strangely strong as a war machine.

This one is defective. This one feels, thinks. So this one is gone to the warehouse... could not be fixed. Could only be shut down.

So say the words, you see the glow.

Leave.

I have been running myself down into the ground, and yet all I hear is anger towards me. All I know is the martyrdom of my pathetic little kingdom; the crumbling of my tender faith in human goodwill.

All I ever hear now, from every mouth, is a different story on how I ruined their lives.

Again. And again.

And I imagine that this could be true, it probably could be, but I can't stand it any more. I have stopped drawing, and writing, and talking. I rarely eat and when I DO decide to pick up a pencil, it is to draw the same skull. And yet, and yet, I still work myself into the ground and deeper, for what is possibly the only thing left for me.

I cannot begin to tell you, whoever "you" is, how much I wish I could undo my actions and feelings as simply as pulling a single string to collapse a blanket of weaves. And yet, through this self-indulgent metaphorical suicide, I would still be left with strings covering everything around me; still a blanket, but much more expanded and much harder to remove.

Burn it all.

Perhaps, one of these days, it will kill me. Perhaps, one of these days, someone will come along that I can trust not to hurt me when I'm already hurting enough-- brought upon self or not, with or without the urging thought of others-- and with that note, as sour as it is, I spit out with my forked tongue, as such it would seem, a string of flame, a blossom of acid.

Burn it all. _{fire is bright and fire is clean}

Your humour is lost on me. Come forth, my evils, and let them be portrayed to the world on their innocent white wings. Look between the feathers; there lies dried blood, and under thier perfect nails; the same.

White fangs flash an innocent grin, and for the moment, you're gone.

Did I plan it this way? Did I mean it to destroy myself as well, a bomb strapped to my heart?

High, on wings of fire, will my trust and faith flow forth; hark with its shrill screech will you understand, perhaps, the final calling of the end of the void.

I'm sorry.

But I cannot change, for better or worse, from a completely undefined creature with a broken past and a hazy future. I'm just looking to be loved. I found it, and I let it go. Because it was not fair; it was for naught to try; and to rub acid in the wound, to place maggots in decaying flesh, it comes. Repeating.

Repeating what I've already known, tried not to live again. Will you also consider taking my life away from me?

Burn it ^all.

<sub>I'm afraid... that it's no excuse... I'm sorry.

So sorry.

That I did this.

I'm sorry

That my war machine mentality has taken over.

I'm sorry

That I proved myself to be unworthy.

I'm sorry

That I never say sorry enough.

I'm sorry

That I hunger for human touch in an age of sterility.

I'm sorry

That I wanted something I could not have

despite all intentions

and love

I'm sorry

That I've pushed you to hate me

I'm sorry

That I'm too cowardly to face the anger

I'm sorry

That I prefer to remember good

instead of dwell on impossible bad

I'm sorry

That I cannot explain myself fully enough

I'm sorry

That I'm sorry

That I hurt

That I hide it

That I try to smile

but my face is frozen in place

When everything's dying

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

That I cannot cry.

I cannot smile.

I cannot grieve.

I cannot seize joy.

I can only observe and destroy.

I am a war machine.

What are you?</sub>

_{keep trying and trying
though it won't allow it
to be stoetic, poetic
overall pathetic
but you just don't get it
cause your heart's prosthetic
never again! never-- again!
close your eyes and... believe}

And bring on again the blue eyed day, with its simple needs and desires that bleed me dry and fill me with venomous thoughts... distance between myself and oppressors and the closeness (of the moon's same distance) between what I cannot have and myself, my dark lovely so far away.

Perhaps because of love I feel hatred.

Perhaps because I'm full of love do I feel so empty.

I will ask you rhetorical questions I don't want answered, just to share my confusion with the same rhetorical audience that applauds demise and will gorge on fear and foe tonight; would it be that I could be a certain form of any creature, I would gladly become a vampire; should I suck out the love of the creature before me just as I cannot have enough, though it seeps from my eyes and fingertips. Or that I would be were, becoming just as swift and powerful, and just forget and unleash myself upon the world, fear trembling before me as I turn and forget. Forget it all.

"Don't tell me that this is your last chance to change
'cause if you do, then you would be telling a lie but

I warned you
what could happen if you should decide
to live your life from the 9 to 5
and I mourn you
for the detail that is left unsaid
is a reminder of the time you bled

Return to days when you knew you still felt alive
Reveal the way you felt when you could look inside

They've sold you
everything you need to fix you up
and you feel good now but you can't wake up
they found a way to reassure you
that everything would be okay
reach out today now I emplore you
to remember who you are

Return to days when you knew you still felt alive
Reveal the way you felt when you could look inside

So you felt it, but you don't know,
why you can't explain at all
why you felt it, 'cause you don't know,
no you don't know

Break the walls between building atrophy
causing all your problems to recede
break the walls between (break the walls between)
causing all your pain (causing all your pain)
you'll never learn

Return to days when you knew you still felt alive
Reveal the way you felt when you could look inside

(Break the walls between building atrophy)
Take back
The beat in your heart
Why fight
When you can't be bought?

(Causing all your problems to recede)
Take back
The beat in your heart
Why fight
When you can't be bought?

(Break the walls between)
Take back
The beat in your heart
Why fight
When you can't be bought?

(Causing all your pain)
Take back
The beat in your heart
Why fight
When you can't be bought?"

Red Jumpsuit Apparatus-- "atrophy"