He’s living on a desolate island, digging an endless moat between himself and everyone else.
Every shovelful he digs cuts his flesh, of a body of an innocent who knows he deserves all the pain.
For as long as he remembers he has felt lonely.
No one shall know.
He keeps on digging. No distance will be enough, he knows it, but that’s the only choice.
The further he pushes others the more he hates.
The more disgusted he feels.
Misanthrope.
And the human he hates inhabits his own body.
He can never run away from The Guilty One.
Kill me.
His rage, when being among others, is the only way to handle his pain, the only way to hide The Guilty One from the world.
I’ll never let you come close enough to prove me right -It’s me who should kill myself. It’s me who deserves to die.
But you will never live the day to know it.
-Cause you’ll die first. I swear.
