FUCK FEAR. It's but the fantasy of pain. FUCK PAIN. When it's gone, I will remain, so long as bloody nostrils flare, and burning lungs can fill with air, the blinding shriek of soul and mind are only now. And now will soon be left behind. For only in that length and breadth of time and depth of pain is there a forge so hot to melt the dross and pure the soul and smelt and smith the mind and will to hold an edge that's sharp and hard - enough to cut the shards of dark and sheer the barbs from shattered darts stuck deep and hard in deepest parts of bloody bludgeoned soul and heart and cut the inky dungeon dark away with flame - ignites the pain - a powder keg - and sparks the conflagration through the veins and boils the blood and burns away my face erasing my identity - that others see - that wasn't really ever me and every single thing's aflame and burned away except a name and everything that isn't me has died it's gone I'm purified I'm sterile-clean, I wasn't getting weaker all along - I thought I was - but all the weight of fear and hate and pain and fake are gone away I'm strong and lean and fierce again I'm more than free, I'm less than I have ever been, I'm nothing else at all - but me.
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