There's something lurking. Something that stays without a sound, but with a presence that's so violently loud, you can't think. Behind every shoulder and concurring courageous souls. Logic has no reason with it. None.
And as I walk on the streets alone, the streetlights dimmed to a flickering flow, I hear nothing but the invisible breathing of this lurking beast. I can see it in the eyes of my enemies, as if it's already swallowed them whole, and I catch my breath when I see it in my friend's as well. It creeps like a snake, but as persuasive and beautiful as an angle. I am victim to it, surely I am.
I hear it in my drunken father. I see it in my mother's footsteps. I smell it in the ghetto. It's rancid, and yet we all live in it as if we control it. No, we do not control this beast. Never. This is the beast that kills, scars, scraps the walls and howls when we're suffering. It controls. We don't. 681Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡy8GWpeX0JE
It whispers tempting words in my ear, forces my mouth to open and curse. It is the damning of every human. 681Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw9phT5iRyR
And I hate it. 681Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBwKDxcmJHT
The potential for evil, that's what I'm referring to. It can be any struggle that we suffer with, be it hate, fear, discouragement, malice, even guilt. It's an emotion of whatever choosing that I decided to refer to as a "beast" since I'm absolutely horrible at horror stories, but this caught my eye so... yup.
Enjoy! (I guess?)681Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡufJWI99FvS
