I think we crushed ourselves down over the centuries. Buried ourselves under greed and hate and whatever other sins we could find until our souls finally hit the rock bottom of the universe. And then they scraped a hole through it, into some ... darker place.

How do I appear unthreatening when her lover's blood is running down my chin?

We are where we are, however we got here. What matters is where we go next.

That's why we have memory. And the opposite of memory— hope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can built off our pasts and make future.

I feel the flatline of my existence disrupting, forming heartbeat hills and valleys

I sigh inside, so exhausted by these ugly questions, but when did a monster ever deserve its privacy?

I am Dead, but it's not so bad. I've learned to live with it.