If sin had a color, it would definitely be black, because after my eyes were gouged out, the world I saw turned that color.
Inferiority, timidity, these emotions seem to be innate to me. No matter how hard I try, I cannot deceive myself; I can only hide them in my heart and pretend not to care.
But as I grew older, they didn't disappear; instead, they formed a seed that took root and sprouted in my filthy, damp, and dark soul.
Its roots spread through my veins, entwining my heart and twisting every nerve in my body.
I had many peculiar thoughts, like bullying myself, using pain to punish the cowardly me; or hurting others, letting the dark venomous stems on me crawl over their happy faces.
Manipulation, coercion, threats—while depriving them of life, I felt a kind of false freedom, an illusion of escaping fate's shackles. It was only at times like this that my taut nerves would slightly relax, like a person having a cigarette during extreme exhaustion.
