Echoes of the past [journal]

I do not recall when pain first became a fixture in my life. It is something that cannot be enjoyed or appreciated, and strikes often without warning. It struck first in body, then languished but thrived in heart, and now visits both.

Even though it seems so long ago, the truth in my words still haunt me...somehow. I am often tempted to take out my book but tell myself not to -- may this be the reason, that I am afraid of prophecy?

So here I present some echoes of the past. These would probably qualify, if I ever chose to do it, to remain unchanged in a second edition.

Feeling the pain so much tempts you to act the same in invisible revenge, but it never comes to pass. Why else would you have felt power at the touch of a killing machine? Or even those damned daggers of yours?

You have already fallen to the Angel for that. He taints your conscience. Look what you have done, wanted to feel the touch of death at your fingers, sacrificed your calm repose in madness.

I think I was only speaking the truth when I wrote that "the evilness was getting to her, that is, seeping in and becoming part of her. Cloaked her like a shadow, bright day became eternal night."

There weren't really a lot of parts where the text is worth reading for its poetry (aside from the song lyrics, of which many I attributed to the wrong artist because I didn't know they were covers), but the parts that are eminate eerie truths.

It seemed like a great power, a superhuman ability to destroy anything you did not want, anything you did not need, anything, anytime, that you did not want there anymore.

It is a useless power. You cannot live in a world where everything is the way you want it. There has to be a balance between struggle and fulfillment. It is utterly, utterly useless to be this way.

I must put this away -- it is too much for me.