I've been spending alot of time lately thinking deeply about recent events in my life.
I feel as if my days are numbered.
Perhaps it's just my nature to assume the worst, but unlike previous lamentations this one bears all the signs of doom.
Used to be I'd have my soul torn over something as trivial as loss of character, misrepresentation, or simple disappointment.
All the signs are present.
I'm counting days... staying at my hands... sizing myself up.
The second I get the proof, I know I'm going to go insane.
Not upset, not imbalanced, I see one drop of blood and I'm going to go out and draw some more.
I'm just digging myself deeper and deeper into this with each passing day.
Something tragic is happenning to me, but is it to late?
I once used to bite my lip on the topic of my own mortality, but I'd spent several years coping with the fact that I wouldn't make it to the age of 40 with all of my original parts.... but now, hardly half way there, I think that would be generous of fate to bestow upon me.

It's rediculous to imply that I would go stalking around maiming and killing innocents for not sharing my malady, more likely that I would save up my pain and anger, conserve my energies to consume the one villian.... just another innocent.

The moral of the story is don't trust anyone ever. . . I wouldn't opt for something so grim to be placed upon my headstone, but I know damn well there isn't going to be one anyhow. Spending so much time feeling condemned and powerless actually makes me grow impatient for death. Those who brought me this far will never ever know what had become of me, if there remains any shard of justice left upon this forsaken ball of dreams.