Dear Diary,

This thwarted footage disturbs Her
These creatures… They survive on blind God faith
The desperate need
For a Hero
Security
Perfection

Tiny drops of disgust play on in a crescendo
Pathetic, pliable, tragic creatures
Yet strange irony perceives
Doctrine of analogy
Oh
But how they prance around mockingly
Deposing Me

These creatures… they contain Me here. It all makes perfect sense. I am beyond their comprehension. I understand reason and rationality swimming beneath inconsistency and imperfections. I do not believe in heroes. I am not weak. Because I do not seek what they need, I, do not belong in this scene. I hold completely no grudge against them. They are afraid. I am ugly. They are the ones that need a revolution, a revelation, an alternative. No, but they are pretty. They do not have peeling, obscene dirty hands like Me. I behold a change they fear but they know, they know, they need.

She is Superman. She exists under your false pretences. Feeding on your fears and disability for a small fee, belief. Yet, the joke of it all is, She is Superman. She is created by you. Not the creator of you.

I am completely sane. They are ones that need my help.

M.