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Misunderstood, Unknown, experience is not needed by some to experience what they did not know in the first place.
Enjoyment within, yet sorrow at appearance. The spectator knows better then the player in this game, and still in chips away at by soul every passing day.
One does not know how to feel in a parricide when thy own friends betray thee. Happy nor sad, nor angered, nor yet raged but yet apathetic state. So thy feel no sorrow, thy feel no anger, thy feel only what thy want to feel, the pleasure that comes from its shy presents, the beauty that lies within its shallow name, the glory of all that is glorious. Pondering alas, if thy spectator knows thy self, alas, let thy own self be true.
Something I wrote in five minutes or less. :tongue: