I wonder. Why? Why do I wonder? Because if I could do other than wonder, I wouldn't be wondering, here in this whimsical world of wonder.

I wonder...

What if I hadn't been so stupid and blind? So ignorant to what I had? Would things have turned out differently? Would they have turned out... what's that word... good? Or would the inevitable have simply been delayed? I am not one to know. Stripped of my dignity, my will, my love for everything. My hopes, my treasures;

Words spoken tell of repent, but how can I have faith when all I've known are lies?

Precious, glorious, promising lies.

And I believed them.

I wonder... simply wonder...


Have eyes of blue not shed enough tears? My soul of good intention not corrupted and blackened enough? Is my truth still not bent to your liking? Have I not seen enough blood to sate you?

Am I not twisted enough?

Am I not pure?

Am I not dead?

I can only wonder what you want. I can only guess what you're going to do, only imagine, only hope. Because I can't do anything anymore. Shut me out, shut me down, close yourself off in your own little world of perfection. A world I don't exist in.

I probably never did.

The most beautifully sickening thing is deceit, like a poison smelling of roses and promise.

Once consumed; you'll bleed inside.

And die.

I wonder...

A sublime death of blinding, beautiful lies, the thorns of a black rose...

Or an ugly truth.

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