Another year passes for you of what's left of you're life, I only mark the occasion because in three weeks, the day after my birthday we go to war for good, and for real, theirs no hiding in your bullshit reality and you will be fucking undone. i don't expect things to end but I do expect to be somewhere else rather than the nothingness that we have now, too much precious time and blood have been stolen from us, and even at one point from you, but whatever sympathy at one time i had for you was eroded by your choice of actions over the past few years, you're own sins condemn you worse than anything i could have done, the blood is always going to be on your hands and you will be judged for your sins, I'm not the one that has to explain everything to a young man who is starting to come of age exactly why decisions were made in your life and his, the moment when he needed me the most i couldn't be there and that was due to your actions, your choices, that will always be your paramount sin. there are times i tire of this eternal war with you, I've known you fifteen years and have been fighting you for more than the last ten, I know that whatever goodness is in my son does not come from you, your soul is black. Your actions are the reason i fight even when I'm falling apart emotionally. In my estimation no one truly speaks for my son except for you and your veiw is so distorted and not even in this reality, even when i should fall upon my sword and let you win, I pull that fucking thing out of my chest and continue to fight, you may have inflicted a mortal wound on me, but it's a slow bleed and I have no doubt that the stress that has prematurely aged me will one day kill me, but I'll see the end of this first... and I'll always have the fact that i am fighting for one pure goal, and that's my son and his well being and to ensure that your reality isn't the only one he sees, even if it's just a paper record when he's a man. until the last checkmate, we are merely at another stalemate in this game of fucking psychological chess, it's your move, it's your time to lose... I know that very soon, this set of moments will be at an end and a new playing field, one likely more to my advantage will be available to us, I also know that come an ending, although not a preferred one, i can and will face that reality, I know that i can face and end because even if there is an end it's meaningless, because i will continue to fight, I will never back down, not with whats at stake, you should know me better than that, I might lose the fucking battle, but you've seen me fight, you will know that you have been in a fight, I might get my ass kicked, but I'll never fucking back down, I will never lose the war, Not as long as i can get back up and fight again, not as long as what's at stake remains the most important fucking thing in my life period.
Current Mood: Depressed, Angry.
Current Music: The Longest Day, Iron Maiden.
Every time I stumbled and fell, something in me hardened, became worse.
By the time I reached the castle gates; I think I was not Lestat. I was someone else altogether.
It’s an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater luster to our colors, a richer resonance to our words. That is, if it doesn’t destroy us, if it doesn’t burn away the optimism and the spirit, the capacity for visions, and the respect for simple yet indispensable things.
I don’t know whether I’m the hero or the victim of this tale. But either way, shouldn’t I dominate it? I’m the one really telling it, after all.
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