What is it that makes us who we are if not the past and it’s faded crimes.
Or the cursed actions that plague the conscious and makes us cry.
The resent and devastating effects that indulge silently into the psyche of the weakest mind.
A past that forced its malice into the soul, a past so bitter, so cold.
But there are those who overcome the fear as they drag their soul on the tainted floor, battle vigorously until their last breath, they emerge victorious.
And there are those that do not prevail, they succumb to their own curse, drown in their own despair, they fade away into oblivion.
There are those that over the course of time became a stone. Those that feel less and fear nothing, who watch with pleasure as the past devours it’s host, that ate their past and regurgitated it. Those are the ones that should be feared.

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