Giggilymoricon

I can't sleep. Tides of darkness assault me. All I know is the flickering of the shadows on the wall. Were I to shut my eyes, might they never again open? Might I find myself trapped, cold and alone, lost in the macabre landscape, that my nightmares conjure? No, better to lie awake, to feel my sweat soak the sheets beneath me, to hear the ticking of the clock as the minutes crawl. Yes, better to jump at every illusory demon shrouded only in the shadows on the wall. Better to stare, entranced, entrapped, bewitched, at the splendor of that lurid midnight orb, that lunar landscape, that beacon of the arcane, that mark of the

Certainty Oh how I hate that dark virtue, that bastion of bigotry, that seamstress of sorrow. I put on a show. I wear a skin. I forge a shell and paint it many colors. But of course this is me! Am I not confident? Am I not strong? Tell me, am I not certain? No, I am none of these things. I am utterly uncertain, lost in a world too big, too alien, to be truly grasped. I speak my opinions as facts, but they are not. Still, I do believe I am right! Would you, could you, trust me? Hear me? Heed me? Might you consider my thoughts without spite? Without malice? With no shred of bias? And if I am wrong, might I peacefully accept