JOURNAL OF A LUCID CONDEMNED

Too many bruises to recall the story of my scars. Surviving all these disasters: an invaluable blessing. Remaining whole in this jungle where liars, hypocrites, and impostors thrive. No joy in shining through cowardice, submission, and betrayal. A procession of zealous traitors, blinded by hatred. Always on edge since the placenta, like a child soldier forced to adapt to human savagery. Most of my wounds are invisible. Sometimes forced to accept the darkness of my shadows. A gesture of charity to hope for the erasure of my transgressions. My impure soul drowned in an ocean of blasphemies, so that my divine spark might illuminate my traumatized consciousness. The curve of my miserable life is rising, despite all those chaotic falls. I wrestle with my demons like an addict trying to escape the pleasure given by a hit of hard drugs. The needles of my compass spin in reverse. I loathe submission, servitude, and defilement. I perfume my scorched neurons with toxic fumes, to endure the violence of human stupidity. If I had the power of universal force, I would have a planet dedicated solely to my own universe. I would shower in the furnaces of the bearer of celestial lights. I expect nothing from the verdicts of the Final Judgment. I am an encyclopedia of transgressions, of crimes, and of desolation. My demons torture my ghosts since I accepted the terminus of my dusk.