They call me the marauder of the feelings of the night.
While everyone is asleep, I pillage and plunder the thoughts of the verbose and yet forgotten thoughts. The ones no one wants to admit that they have.
Our society is one where even honesty is not quite honest with itself, shamed into believing that stark contrast in truths is acceptable when one seeks to spare feelings.
I sit, loud in my silence, and assess which dishonest village I shall burn first with clever ditties and unabashed words of fire. Usually they never see it coming, so caught up in their need to be and desire to impress with their deception that my words are usually a sucker punch.
They call me the marauder of the feelings of the night.
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