While all of the outside world sees me as the cold, unmoving rock needless of anything but itself to survive this ruthless world, I sit alone in a dark corner blaming me for bringing it to myself. And yet I remain so vain and proud, that I could not even bring myself to admit it aloud even in loneliness.
My ego. My pet ego. She has become so big a monster that sometimes I lose control over things and She just takes over. She needs it. And I need her. Without her I would be just another weakling. And I would hate to be a weakling again. Weaklings get crushed. Weaklings lose. Weaklings die before everybody else. If I would be one, I should at least try to trick them all with a strong facade. Who knows, I just might get away with it and win. But then again, weaklings don’t win. They never do.
Slowly now it’s all crashing down on me.
I have become a slave of my own trade. A prisoner of my own chosen freedom, which ironically, was something I have worked so hard for.
And now I have nowhere to go.
I sit alone in a dark corner blaming me for bringing it to myself but I would still be so vain and proud that I could not even bring myself to say it out loud even in loneliness.
