I fall again and again. Run into walls.
This pain is what must be conquered.
This is my zen.
What do you fear most?
I walk around, drilling holes in perfect plans.
Holes, so that the sorrow seeps through.
Failure must carve the throne on which I rest my success.
Discipline. There is no rest.
I burn memories for warmth.
Watch love wither and temptation bow.
Inure myself to all emotion.
Reaction is a weakness the strong cannot afford.
This smile is a mask behind which I hide.
Ascetic. Heretic. Frantic chants.
Scars on my chest from this war.
You don’t scare me.
Fear is the last enemy.
This is my zen.
To feel nothing. To fear nothing.
What do you fear most, little one?
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