The hate and sensation of fear they have of me makes me fear them for fearing me.

I walk endlessly looking inwards at the outside world, encapsulated around nothing but the idea that this world is inside of my perspective and outside only because I am inside of nothing but what is not outside.

Why do I analyze the potentials to an extreme?

Why can’t I be satisfied with what should be right or something already on the inside of me?

Why do I seek refuge from persecution to the extent where I persecute those for the persectution they haven’t yet given me?

I am afraid.

I default.

I assume.

And here I am, a dishonerable being who falls into his own traps often.

It should be the other way around.

I should indulge in the possibility that perhaps this means something more, perhaps they are right.

But mostly that I am wrong.

I persecute myself, for I am the one who inevitably falls.