It's so terribly true.
I don't respect anyone. I don't trust anyone.
I can't even say if I love anyone, anymore.
I don't love myself. I don't hate myself anymore, but now I just don't care. I have always hated apathy because apathy has always been my worst demon. Constantly, it torments me.
I'm a liar. I honestly don't understand why anyone chooses honesty.
I'm cunning, and I'm manipulative. Always plotting ahead, I always have reasons and plans for the things I do.
So quick am I to call someone else the psychopath or sociopath, when deep down I always knew it was me who was the villain.
Such a writer, aren't I? Spinning stories in my favor, twisting tales so I remain golden.
What a wretched facade, isn't it? I try as hard as I can to make people love me. To make them loyal. To make them care. I indoctrinate them into defending me at all cost, loving me until their heart breaks. It doesn't always work...but when it works it works magnificently.
I have wondered if I truly feel guilt. I regret nothing, I suppose, except getting caught.
My actions always have consequences, but still I evade them and escape what I deserve.
Always the victim, always garnering sympathy and empathy but never genuinely giving it in return.
But oh, don't I tell a beautiful story? My words are drugs, and you're all addicted.
I am so utterly selfish. I never do anything for anyone else, unless I benefit. Why can't anyone see how selfish I am? Far from selfless, my dear, I never keep people around for their own sake. I do it for my own entertainment. Isn't life a game? Aren't you all pawns, and I the queen? Checkmate, sweetheart.
I remember when I was younger--how I'd get such fits of rage. I was going to kill everyone and myself. I scared myself. I was frightened of my own emotional instability. I have never been one to practice true self control: but I control the demons inside me. Sometimes, I unleash them. The cruelest things fall from my crescent moon lips, and my intentions are always darker than night.
I have married myself to my words, and thus I have learned how to destroy people with them.
Have I always been this way? Perhaps.
Some of us are just born monsters.
At least, however, I have the audacity to admit that I am anything but a protagonist.
What about you? Are you willing to share how evil you are as well?
I am no coward, even if I hide behind mask after mask. I become who you want me to be (never the same person twice), because I insist one burning my name into your pages.
Isn't it fun?