My crying blood you are the last.
I am without truth though I know the sting of pain. The wretched screams from within your soul. Those woven pities and lies from carved spears. I should not live for any other nor shall I fall because I am like you. Your thought is my action and your breath my harmful word. Your sorrow is my anguish above mine own to bear, and your happiness is at my expense. Even Oedipus couldn’t run from his fate. It is our curse and I will live accordingly with no other to harm. One day you will stop running towards me, the heroism will end. You cannot outrun my pain. What you see from me is only a mask and will never be removed. Maybe her disease runs through me, perhaps it will hold me in unhappiness and preserve me from true euphoria.
