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The Child In The Playground... I Am Not A Monster.. Fear Not.

Gah, I can't hide it anymore. I can't.

I've wet the bed up till I was 12. I've lit things on fire.. and still have a small flame for it. I have seemingly tramatic experiences from childhood... Infancy maybe. And lastly, I've done unmentionable things to small animals in my youth. But the predator in me fled.. Visits sometimes.. But not assisted.

I dunno what's wrong with me. Heh, and honestly, I don't want to change. To everyone, I'm so "sweet" or "innocent." I feel a bit fuzzy when I hear things of so.

Although I walk alone. People prefer the unknown, unknown. It takes a daring adventurer to push the still stone.

I manipulate gladly. Enjoy the sight of, somehow, making people either happy or sad. But I mean, why do you let your strings be so available to me? I can't help pulling them every so often. I get a rush of adreneline.. And laugh to myself.. inside my head.

I think of death. Not as if I'm depressed, but what it will bring. 200 years, my life... my.. shows.. will have been canceled by then. All of our lives. And by studying psychology.. I can shift this world's flow just a tinch... I could understand what I am.. And discover others. And possibly save the lost... After conquering my own demons.

I sometimes feel lonely. No one in this playground to share the journey with who understands. Just another voodoo doll.. But someone has caught my eye. I treasure him.. And admire him.. And want him.. Because I know he has felt just a taste of this.. But he's older... And life has to be lived.. As I love from afar. Maybe this is why I'm posting. Rerunning my cons to see why he still sees me as a friend. He comes to me with everything.. And.. I'm spellbound...

But.. I've been called Evil by those who have been stung. I'm sorry. I'm just a child in a playground. Careless.. Searching for wild Freedom. The type of ripenened fruit that grows on Love's trees... I want to bite into one fresh plum of it.. And savour its eternal succulence.. I am not a monster. I am... Untitled. A pink flower that grows by lava industries, and no one will pick me. Understandable.

The world is so... fragile. They think, "oh we have vehicles, we're something." Yes, you do have vehicles darling.. I've seen them.. They kill thousands of your people each year. Or, "we are advanced in technolgy and speak a valid, or multiple, languages, we're the "intelligent" species" I'm sure you are.. Even though parrots have mastered some of the language too.. It just takes vocal chords, the "right" ones, and a little attention to create a bunch of hubub.

And so many others. We are animals. I am.. an animal. A fox, at that. But I do get scared sometimes.. I have felt pain.. And droplets of regret here and there.. But I am an animal. I will not sit here and let people tell me that we are more than creatures. People who are so dependent on green to keep themselves working functionally.

I work functionally with my beliefs in mind. I am a leader. A follower to only a wise leader. In order to sucessfully lead people, one must not be affected by everything. I mean, the only reason why you cry at a funeral is because you focus on the lost... But the other side has now a new soul, a soul you'll meet later on, my friend.. Just not now.. Soon.

I am not bad. I tell the truth.. without much sprinkles.. But it's still ediable. Not everything needs to be sweet.. I try to disect the good in those I meet.. no matter how intricated their soul is.. One string is still pure.. One..

I like helping people.. And making them feel good. Why? Because I'm not apart of them. I'm not "with" this world. I do my own thing, I suppose. I seek the meaning instead of the feeling.

And... I'm not perfect. My urges, strictly confidential, are strange.. But why do you point a finger? When you, go home to beat your wife.. after drinking all night. Or, you have raped.. Or ******** a married man... Or bullied that one girl.. Who eventually commited suicide.. and well, you were nowhere to be found. Or.. ********** to your friend's lover. I mean really, any tact? Or cheated on that test.. It was small.. But was it any harder to just admit that you aren't an Einstein? Or those blades.. Mm. Secret, right? Pills.. Secret, right? Why must we point such dirty fingers?

I thought we were all Equal.. no..
JeuneCirque JeuneCirque 18-21, F 1 Response Nov 6, 2012

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You are a very talented writer :)