This thing you see
It is not me.
We built this wall
And it is strong
only a pinhole betraying to a few
the chaos within
We may falter but the facade will return, will stand strong. Beneath this hide, this armor, there lie us, for none would stand by if they saw this face, this monster! No one see this evil within, hidden, locked away, warded and banished by good act, useless penitence of the forever damned.
Empty. Cold. Carnal. Rage.
The doors of hell gape wide before us, and we cling desperately the the wings of an angel, groping blindly at bright feathers, and tarnishing them, breaking them. And the heat of the fire is nothing beside the fire within, our hatred.
For a weakling. A conniving knave, the deceiver and puppeteer. The cursed fool, staring back at us from mirrors! Fie, fie, ye devil, who would dream of being worthy. For blood and ashes, bloody ashes! Oh foulness, how beautiful, how intricate your disguise, your slave! Believed of good by all but himself, hateful parody! WE KNOW YOUR NAME, oh twisted one! You are put on display, proper place for thee, oh freak, now all may gape in horror upon your visage. Shrink not from your image, for it is your own handiwork! Own your shame, you fault, and look out upon them so high above, for they are no longer deceived! No longer may you deny! There is no hiding from this vileness that you have created!