TW: Hopeless

The worst that a Creator can do is to put someone naive in this world.

I resent myself because I am without cunning. I also have faith that there are still kind people in the world, which is the most useless faith of all. This is a harsh world, nothing stops at anyone. If I fall, everyone will laugh at me. If I show the slightestof weakness, they'll leave me to die in agony, or further widen the wounds. I am the fool, theunwilling jester. I am weak and without any sign of useful strength. The crowds love not someone like me. They do not have sympathy for the loving, for love is weak. They want power. They want acid, they want venom, they want blood. They want tits, they want money. Not kindness, not naivety, not weaknesses like me.

I'm not impressive. I'm boring. I'm old and naive and gullible. They want steel, not stardust. They want crowns, for kindness is of peasants. I still cling to love. To hope. To promise of a better world. But it's nothing that the world demands.

I feed myself venoms & poisons. Illusions. Enemies. Spitefulnotions I've tried to love. So that one day the magnificent monster will be born, and the little girl died. But it is futile, for I've turned myself an even weaker soul with small, naivete mind.

I've lost life, for it is those who survived the venom who will continue life. Monsters win in real life. Sympathy dies, because people love cruel jokes. They despise matters of a wounded heart, because they take greater pleasure oftorturing it even more.

I'm a small animal of the bigger predator: unnecessary, and frightened. But life needs its court jesters. And death is a cold judge without end for thosenot beloved by the gods. It is why heroes are praised to the stars, and why creatures without promise will simply be a disappointment, and be punished accordingly.

For kindness is not an ideal ambition. We should be complex. We should be frightening and wicked. For those who do good is wasting their time. The world is not black and white. A black and white story is a poorly written text.

I am ushered to pray for a stronger self. For life to turn me into a monster ofterrifying strength. Because praying for a happy life is futile.

I should march on, finish properly whilewaiting for my end to come. For they don't like someone who fall andrefused to fight.They hate cowards.

They want me to die, and I'll have no safe place until then.