A trip down a broken memory lane.  Where from here there is no turning back.There isn't much more one can do with these times as farcical as they have become.  Where one loses their own train of thought along the tracks of logicality and sense.  And with all done away with, I have become reclusive to this society.  I am not your puppet, and you most certainly are not my puppeteer, behind the curtains of innocence.  Who are you trying to fool?  We are all criminals here.  I've been made into what you wanted me to be.  An individual bent on reprisal while downing himself in the lake of melancholy.  Is that not what this society wants?  Is that not what you are asking?  You have to some sort of creator if you are not the antagonist of a novel.  Thus, what does that make me?  Another foliage to your games? I think not.  You have me confused for such fiction.  There isn't any role for me.  But I promise you, these times you have cursed me and banished my face from anywhere besides my mind; you will be sentenced, you will be judged, there will be nothing but sorrow for you.  Madness, sorrow, and the indescribable pain.

But not by my hand.