because he's dead.
because he died.
because some little girl managed to do a shitton more than me, and resisted whatever the hell he does.
did. What he did.
I'm not a full on expert on the subject, but I've done my homework. When this Almaga...Amalgamation Sage showed up to argue with whoever this is, I wasn't surprised. They've met. In some form or another, at least. Given the fucked up shit I've read on his blog, well, I don't know what's going on with him.
But I *do* know what's going on with you, faker.
Heh, I sounded like Shadow a bit there.
Here's the point. I was at the spot you were, man. I threw it all away, I wanted it done, I wanted it just to be mother fucking over. I couldn't take the stress, the strain, the weird feeling I get whenever its nearby, like a mental scream that reminds me its unnatural, like a natural instinct upon seeing a snake or spider, we have learned to avoid and fear poisonous animals.....fuck I'm getting off topic.
You want to be someone you're not. You want to hide. Yeah, I get that. I hide. I've done it mentally, and I do it physically too. Motherfuckin walkin round covered up, bandaged up, so no one can go 'what the fuck is wrong with you?' Sure they stare, but I know WHY they stare, and that's alright. I wear the gear, sure. It used to feel 'cool' I guess at first, I was pretending, like you, to be someone in control, in charge. Fuck it felt good, I would imagine people pissin their pants when I showed, because I was the fuckin show, and the spotlight was set.
I don't know if you were done dirty like me, I don't know if you're some guy on the edge, lookin for a personality that ain't his. I don't know if you're just a mother. fuckin. troll. gettin his rocks off on other people's grief. Maybe in that way, you ARE him. There's a reason pictures of Redlight show him with a troll face. But that's ALL you are.
I found it frustrating, hell I was motherfuckin catatonic for a bit. The idea of being on a string, dancing to another's tune. It haunts me, I'm not ashamed. I don't want to be a plaything for noodle arms, for the Faceless. I. Won't. Be. Yours.
Talk your trash, all you're getting from me is an ass kicking.