I feel like destroying something beautiful.
Beauty masks monsters. Beauty fuels falsity. They sky is beautiful, but the sky is cloudy. Your face is beautiful, but it is lifeless. Beauty is torture. Monsters thrive off of torturing you, they thrive off of your fear. Wandering, sucking color from the world, ice cold, Antarctica, miles and miles away.
Taken advantage of. Beauty is, I mean. Murdered, covered as suicide, but why would you ever want to destroy something beautiful? Higher powers, controlled anarchy. And no matter what, you can’t escape.
Beauty is everywhere, lying to you. Things aren’t beautiful, so destroy it all. What we deem as having beauty is merely a reflection of how we perceive ourselves to be. Do you think you’re beautiful? No? What about your soul, is that beautiful, or are you dark like me?
You’re tortured within only because of the constant battle with beauty. Your eyes, hungry for relentless destruction.
I feel like destroying something beautiful; therefore, everything will be destroyed.
