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Description
Is that him?
I just want to pull the hood up and wander out into the city, alone, even if only inside my head. Ignoring the pointing fingers and stares. The whispers. Slide past them all in the fog of thoughts; pass them by like I wish I could the memories.
I thought he'd look different.
They always say legends never die. What they never tell you is that you're not allowed to change either. How every single person you meet in this place has heard the stories they think are truth. And that that's all they can think of every time they're with you. How they think they already know all about you.
Did you hear about the time he...
But they don't know. They’ll also never believe that most of the legend is a lie. How the stories are all distortions of things that might have happened, but damn sure weren’t anything like the stories that got told. But they don't want that. They want the you they've imagined and built up to be something more than you can ever be. And they grow to hate you for it and blame it all on you. And when they tell their friends about it, it all just adds to the legend.
You won't believe what he did last night...
If they really knew what it does to you, no one would wish for this. They wouldn't wish it on their worst enemy. God knows I never wanted or asked for this. But I’ve got it now, and I’m not sure I can give it up. It’s taught me lessons that no one should have to learn. That to most, things like honor and trust and loyalty are only words to most people, if not lies. That no one is or will ever be there for you when the rubber meets the road. Because what makes you a legend, also makes you a monster.
That’s him. I heard he...
So I’ll pull up the hood and put in the headphones, to wander these streets at night, alone even in the crush. Trying to let my hate and it's poisons bleed out in my breath. Like the smoke from the cigarettes, that I suck down because I’m too lazy to pick up a gun. Because as much as I hate the monster in me, I hate them more for making me one.
I heard he left. I thought he wasn't coming back...

(For the others, who know who they are. I wish for you what you've given me, for good or for ill. And those who taught me, that in the end, it's all for nothing anyway.)

Description
Is that him?
I just want to pull the hood up and wander out into the city, alone, even if only inside my head. Ignoring the pointing fingers and stares. The whispers. Slide past them all in the fog of thoughts; pass them by like I wish I could the memories.
I thought he'd look different.
They always say legends never die. What they never tell you is that you're not allowed to change either. How every single person you meet in this place has heard the stories they think are truth. And that that's all they can think of every time they're with you. How they think they already know all about you.
Did you hear about the time he...
But they don't know. They’ll also never believe that most of the legend is a lie. How the stories are all distortions of things that might have happened, but damn sure weren’t anything like the stories that got told. But they don't want that. They want the you they've imagined and built up to be something more than you can ever be. And they grow to hate you for it and blame it all on you. And when they tell their friends about it, it all just adds to the legend.
You won't believe what he did last night...
If they really knew what it does to you, no one would wish for this. They wouldn't wish it on their worst enemy. God knows I never wanted or asked for this. But I’ve got it now, and I’m not sure I can give it up. It’s taught me lessons that no one should have to learn. That to most, things like honor and trust and loyalty are only words to most people, if not lies. That no one is or will ever be there for you when the rubber meets the road. Because what makes you a legend, also makes you a monster.
That’s him. I heard he...
So I’ll pull up the hood and put in the headphones, to wander these streets at night, alone even in the crush. Trying to let my hate and it's poisons bleed out in my breath. Like the smoke from the cigarettes, that I suck down because I’m too lazy to pick up a gun. Because as much as I hate the monster in me, I hate them more for making me one.
I heard he left. I thought he wasn't coming back...

(For the others, who know who they are. I wish for you what you've given me, for good or for ill. And those who taught me, that in the end, it's all for nothing anyway.)