Why do they do this? Make me punish them? I don't want to hurt them, I don't want to destroy them. But they keep coming back for more. They keep... Loving me? Why? Why do they care so much? Do they think they can fix me? Well, they can't! But still, they're a delicate flower to my horrors, and every time they say I'm good, I need to prove them wrong. There's nothing good about a horror show, a display of human death, a puppet of sorrow, a silent echo of diverse whimpers. I must show them the parts of me that'll make them change their mind. Show them they're wrong about me. Make them hate me. The best technique? Using my words as more than swords and knives, as something more than beautifully articulated compliments and sharers of thought up stories. More than weapons. I use them as the greatest destruction, bombs, incinerating everybody in it's path. Making that vessel feel truly dead, make them ache inside, the way I have for so long. But sometimes they like to believe their strong, that they can get through to me somehow, or stop my suffering in a way, by showing me merciful love. As if it's the strongest thing out there. So, I feel the need to damage them more instead of showing them an unforgiving goodbye. I show them what I've always wanted to do. The brutality of my mind. The rampage of what I've become, and that always seems to do the trick. They tremble in fear beneath me. And once again, unfortunately I have turned another soul away from me. I have damaged another body. Made them cry for something more than God. Something everyone seems to ask for when they're weak. I make them cry out to Satan, to the Galaxy of endless possibility, I make them want me to die. I make them slowly become who I was molded into. I become the same devil that destroyed me, and I destroy others. The worst part is, I can't stop it. I can only watch myself do these terrible things, become the puppet that I was always meant to be.