perhaps you may have recognised, but i'm not exactly one to talk of peaceful matters, having quite the hidden yet recurring longing to tear heads from each man who stands within my path. perhaps when tension builds too prominently, the blood seeping through just enough to cause ones living form to stumble and shake from loss of breath, i could cut it all away with one foul gesture. fair play has never been the result of the paths i have ventured, therefore i shall not bring the same down them. enough has happened to teach me that and i need not elaborate for i doubt any who read my futile arguments and screaming to no audience do not really care. through each deceiving nature i have witnessed from the realms creation, building vessels that shall only hold the need for mental genocide and scattering them restlessly, almost as if a play for something out there, i could hardly trust any. i cant trust the people, the ground beneath nor any mumbling of fate nor its thread tugging at my tail in a childlike sense. though the birds of the holy speak in song, blessing the land and attempting to purify what its people have left contaminated, their word lays unnoticed amongst the conspiring crowds. many wish harm, especially on myself, as do i on all. its just how things work, i suppose.
with rumour and panic grasping at the publics conversations, any talk of their superiors avoiding respect at all costs, the reason unknown, it only takes pinching myself to remember what they believe about me. every time i attempt to veil myself in my own humour and borderline propaganda, just another reminder burrows its way within each letter. myth and fables are enough to drive the men of this place to slaughtering their own fellow beings, friends, lovers and perhaps even spiting god if it may come to it. i should know, yet ive chosen to let the matters rest for just about a hundred years to see if it does the trick (and i can assure you, not even that deters the sleepless parts of this society).
most prominently, ive recieved enough accusations of being a beast of a man, the head of a dog and the sword of a brute. i dislike being told over and over of this blasphemy, hardly able to make a wrong turn in familiar streets from the worry that microphones and traps shall collapse on me. i shan't turn to denial, nor shall i choose admittance, instead the only option has been to run as far away as humanly possible (even if i may not be).
and what if i shall embrace this ideal, the creature that none may utter the name of in fear of its return, the scratching sensation of metal across the industrial grounds of this world no longer simply machinery but a weapon far from comprehensible. each echoing step and low snarl leaves people frozen temporarily, unable to even turn towards family before being struck down, such a swift move none may be able to guess. teeth with the same effect of 10 of my contraptions, each blade people may speak of cannot be compared to the jaws of this fiend, clamping down and tearing meat with a dinstinct lack of effort. fur with the tint of coal or ebony, unkempt and unruly, many recalling the stains of vermillion etched within each strand. a stature that you may look upon and weep, smothering you with despairs crushing sensation for one last time before viewing your demise, muscular and threatening. one may call it the butcher of mankind, though it has failed to make a return when needed.
the opportunity granted may be immeasurable, leading a fear stricken army behind me through the wishes of keeping their heads attached, now truly provoking emotion in those who shall not take me seriously, those who bothered me in the past. a few particular names come to mind, a few words i may refrain from using. the bark of a vessels fury and the bite of none but someone who hardly remains within this reality is enough to turn the weak to puddles of tears. who wouldnt wish for such all consuming power? who wouldnt want to crush all of those beneath with such an ability?
and despite this, i took the opportunity, wishing to look upon my previous endeavours with hesitance and a prolonged sense of guilt, unable to reach the satisfaction i proceeded to describe with such content. even if i may speak with such blatant confidence regarding this, something a few shades darker lingers beneath the excitement of storytelling, something i wish to delve into just once more for the sake of fixing my woes. if it may provide even a slight remnant of peace stripped from me so long ago, then so be it. let me be this poor dog again, regardless of what criticism may be bestowed upon me and the articles that may render me despised.
