I can no longer reconcile myself with what I’ve become. Therefore, I hate the both of them.
Truly, I do.
I’m trying to come to grips with the fact that, except for only a few instances, I have been nothing but a bodiless ghost, a specter of an unborn child which should have grown up to have become the image of my personal archetype.
I mean, what am I to you?
Or better yet, what are ye to me?
Ye all are like gods, the lords of heaven, earth, AND hell, to myself. Ye all are able, with the least possible effort, to create the worlds in which I would desire to live; ye all are able and willing to do the things which I cannot.
Ye all, I hold in the utmost regard, higher than even the greatest amongst the politicians and leaders of the earth. They hold no value in comparison to the likes of you all in mine eyes.
Whenever I cnoverse with any of you, I am exceedingly fearful and timid concerning what to say, how to say it, why I should say it at all, and all such other concerns.
I would never try to aggravate any of you in any sense of the word, as I would fear the sense of loss which would accompany your departure. Never demanding, never annoying, never the harbinger of any vice toward yourselves.
Ye are the artists of DeviantArt.
Ye all are the epitome of that which I, because of my shortcomings, cannot even hope to become.
I am only a lowly writer, who can only compose mere sentences into simple, written form.
I am only a lowly orator, who can only rattle off long compositions of words with the simplest of meanings.
I am only a lowly thinker, who can only rationalize his way down a long, lonely path into the darkest of darknesses.
I am nothing compared to any of you.
