343rd Post

The icy scythe.

Cuts through me.

But i feel no pain.
The absolute numbness.

Numb to the cuts.
And adding more.

Why do i even exist?

The pain.
The sorrow.
It's unbearable.

The crossroads are often confusing.
Choosing the wrong path.
Will definitely lead to disaster.

All my rage.
Which i thought i had kept it sealed.
Are suddenly being released.
Overwhelming me.
Clouding my judgment.

As i unleash a furious maelstrom of death.
And destruction.

Is this the price i must pay?
For earning the rank of Archangel of Destruction.

The cuts continue.
To release the sorrow through pain.

To remind me.
That i am still a living mortal.

I cannot stand it anymore.

Let me deal myself the final fatal cut.
As the coward's way of escape.