Panic. Terror. Staccato breaths. It is strong. Merciless, yet intangible. Clouding all rationality, engraved with anger. All too well, it is the essence of an inner demon - lurking inside of us. Consuming our minds. We can't control it, and would likewise never want to. For this is a monarchy; one of which we may never overthrow. If we try, it will consume us as a whole.

            This is the end; this is war. This is everything for which you screamed in the night, and more. The viciousness of Hell, without eye or emotion, scratching at every muscle in your body. It doesn't walk, nor does it call your name, but you cannot hide from it.


            Because you cannot hide from yourself. It is a part of you, and your way of life. It thrives on your thoughts, and becomes stronger by your intuition. Instinctively, you know this. But rationally, you don't understand it - it's inevitable. It takes control of your body and mind as a whole, and abandons you when you need it the most. Eventually it dictates your mind over everything, and you learn to thrive off of this feeling; anticipating every result, creating an irreplaceable thrill that no other feeling may provide.

            This is your personal directory - a compass with warped directions. But you follow them. One would like to think it is a navigable disaster, but it's not. It is only disaster in plain sight, hiding the truth that persists inside of you. And this is the only way for you to see the beauty in catastrophe. This is inescapable. This is relentless. This is Fear.


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