Victims
Run not from me, ye that fear what I say. Do not try to escape, ye that have foreseen my end. Try not to run away, for you too shall not escape the sharp edge of the sword. It shall claim me, and it shall claim you all. Look up and see. It is getting dark, yet it is just morning, and when I look up in the sky, I see pandemonium. The blue is no longer innocent. It is full of brown, the colour of death, the colour of dust and subverted authority. The clouds float by like sheep without a shepherd, nay; a shepherd without sheep.
I can see you all, victims of death, victims of life. You all are on passage, and your mistakes pile on top of each other. You are not forgiven, and you shall never be forgiven. You shall pay, for there are consequences. I am not alone on the path to ruin, and though my heart is weak and my flesh is crumbling, it is what it is, for I am prepared for the end, goaded into a corner by the knives you thrust into me. I can see a crowd, trooping straight behind me. They are mocking me, calling me names, and they chant, ‘save thyself.’ Vanity, oh it is, for your heels to be hot on the run to my ruin, for it is also that of your own. It is vain, for you to raise your voice, in praise of they that torture me, for ye too are on the walk to that end, all of you.
So in case someday in future my vision comes true, and you plan to make judgement of me, please let it be tender and slow. Be not harsh of words and bitter in actions. Sharpen thy knives in the distance lest I hear it, and as you pray to put my heart on trial, be gentle, and let it not rise above a whisper. If in future I have to be made a victim, then allow me to say my final words, before you run me through. Let what you know of me stand, lest your judgement changes. I pray you, judge me with the same measure you shall want to be judged.
So I have said it, that death shall come to me either swift or with tonnes of pain, but whatever the way, so be it, for we are nothing but victims. Victims of life, and victims of death.
Run not from me, ye that fear what I say. Do not try to escape, ye that have foreseen my end. Try not to run away, for you too shall not escape the sharp edge of the sword. It shall claim me, and it shall claim you all. Look up and see. It is getting dark, yet it is just morning, and when I look up in the sky, I see pandemonium. The blue is no longer innocent. It is full of brown, the colour of death, the colour of dust and subverted authority. The clouds float by like sheep without a shepherd, nay; a shepherd without sheep.
I can see you all, victims of death, victims of life. You all are on passage, and your mistakes pile on top of each other. You are not forgiven, and you shall never be forgiven. You shall pay, for there are consequences. I am not alone on the path to ruin, and though my heart is weak and my flesh is crumbling, it is what it is, for I am prepared for the end, goaded into a corner by the knives you thrust into me. I can see a crowd, trooping straight behind me. They are mocking me, calling me names, and they chant, ‘save thyself.’ Vanity, oh it is, for your heels to be hot on the run to my ruin, for it is also that of your own. It is vain, for you to raise your voice, in praise of they that torture me, for ye too are on the walk to that end, all of you.
So in case someday in future my vision comes true, and you plan to make judgement of me, please let it be tender and slow. Be not harsh of words and bitter in actions. Sharpen thy knives in the distance lest I hear it, and as you pray to put my heart on trial, be gentle, and let it not rise above a whisper. If in future I have to be made a victim, then allow me to say my final words, before you run me through. Let what you know of me stand, lest your judgement changes. I pray you, judge me with the same measure you shall want to be judged.
So I have said it, that death shall come to me either swift or with tonnes of pain, but whatever the way, so be it, for we are nothing but victims. Victims of life, and victims of death.
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