longer.blue

The glass wall you hide behind, That rampant pearlescent excuse. Fear, you say? What of it? I know no such thing. I don't sway to the creaking of old wood. I jump nought at the humming, flickering lights, Nor do I flee the indecent sounds of the shadowed night. What possibility could you possibly muster? What guise could you conjure to empty my sorry lungs? There is nothing. For you are merely man, and I am your wicked monster.