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I must say, I am happy. Exhuberant. There is joy that I take in their displeasure.
...Why do you say I'm insane? Because I want to murder them? With their "Sincerest" and "Caring" and "Loving" intentions, It's so funny. Is that what it is? The forcing of one to lose the liquid of life in trade for...sincerity? HAh. What stupid people. They think the spilling of blood will do them well. They think that a book written by groups of madmen is...true!
And what do I say? The spilling of blood is worth nothing...Pain is not worth life without pleasure. If only I could, I would be with Byrd. The one I love. But I love without struggle; I don't force him, I don't anger him. I appease him. I praise him.
I don't judge him, or leave him to woe alone, nor do I criticize harshly or, God forbid, yell at him.
Like they do to me...