You’re superman, in your tights, standing before a tall mirror

Where’s it all going? You ask yourself

Hermione left a pack of cigarettes and a six pack from last nights anniversary

The world’s noise clouds your heart.

Bullshit. You spit at your reflection.

What are you!? The apartment trembles beneath your feet.

24 hours from now, they’ll find you in the empty bathtub, piss faced and dishevelled

Your hair grown wild and your stubble sharp, ragged

This is what you’ve become, but there’s no redemption for you, no. You’re superman, they can’t unknow that, whatever choice there was to be apart of the human race has lead you to the very edge and you wish you could take it back.

To be anything but what the world expects, is to enter the dark side, it is villainy.

So you raid the oldest museum in the world and pick the most menacing crown you can find.

Let them worship me, if they will never see me as one of their own.


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