The Melancholy of Literati Boy

[Mишка (Miska)]

It is a shame now, to think of hate sadness or pain,
To think of killing or beating or being beat or to maim,
Yet with all stories comes confliction and hate,
With all dreams comes evil we have to face,
Even if these things are not appearant,
They still exist even in the translucency of this fake world's farceness,
Because our worlds are like books and movies,
Who is to say the greatest writers were not to burdened as we are now,
Because our worlds can be of horror and fear,
Who is to say the most evil killers and monsters took it to far, to near,
But we know our limits! We are not deranged. We just are and are just.
We see evil, but do not do. We hear it and do not speak.
We know its mind but are so unlike it.
We are survival. We think of the worst possible out comes,
And we fight them mind so that we are prepared in later time. Whether evil comes to find us is unknown but we are not so shocked to see its face or to here its words. The revelation of wrong doing is not new but remains worry some. When others lie in panic we lie in thought. When others know not the answer we foresee it. What are we? Another type of man?