The more I opened my eyes to this world,
the deeper the hunger grew.
Not for life.
Not for love.
Not for joy.
I craved death.
I longed for it to kiss me,
to silence this heart that never wanted to beat.
To freeze this body
and let it rot away in peace.
But this… this was not the same desire
I once held close in another life—
the life that dreamed of love,
of laughter,
of someone's arms to fall into.
No.
That dream died long ago.
Now, I only desired death.
The kind that doesn't bring fear—
but freedom.
This cursed fate of mine—
I made peace with it.
Because I believed the only way it would end…
was if I stopped breathing.
For years,
I was alone.
I confined myself to silence,
to the shadows.
I watched people come and go—
their lives dancing like flames
I could never touch.
I became a myth.
A shadow
people admired but never saw.
A name that echoed through stories,
but never through touch.
A figure so distant
that people questioned if I had ever truly existed.
I was almighty in their mouths,
a legend in their whispers—
but not a soul.
Not a man.
Just a memory carved from fog.
This is what the curse made of me.
It told me no love, no joy,
no warmth would ever be mine.
And I…
I accepted it.
I regretted it.
I felt it.
I lived it.
Countless days.
Countless nights.
Countless strangers passing through my life
like dreams I could never hold.
I was always there—
in the dark.
Surrounded by regrets.
Drowning in guilt.
Whispering to myself
because no one else remained.
I forgot what warmth felt like.
I forgot if I ever had it.
I forgot joy.
I forgot love.
I forgot what it meant to be alive.
I forgot me.
And still…
I stayed.
Years passed.
I felt every second
like a blade pressed against my skin.
Years of killing myself from the inside.
Years of breathing while wishing not to.
Years of praying for death—
and being denied every time.
And the world?
It gave me something else.
Admiration.
Fame.
People.
People who looked up to me.
Praised me.
Called me hero.
Called me legend.
Only if they knew.
Only if they knew what I did
to climb those blood soaked stairs.
Only if they saw the bodies beneath my name.
Only if they felt the weight of each step
that shattered my soul
a little more each time.
Only if they knew what it meant
to sell your soul for salvation,
and still be damned.
I waded through pools of blood.
Walked on stairs slick with it.
The walls remember—
they still bleed when I pass by.
I became pale.
I became hollow.
I became a demon with no goal.
A shadow that didn't exist.
A breath no one heard.
A darkness that consumed all.
My soul shattered long ago.
I saw myself—
not as a man,
but a monster.
A monster who thirsted for blood,
but not out of rage.
Out of survival.
Out of desperation.
A monster who no longer knew what life meant.
A monster cursed to live forever—
without love.
Without peace.
Without an end.
This was my path.
The path of pain.
The path of regret.
The path nobody wants,
but one that fate carved with its own blade
and forced me to walk.
I killed my desires.
I murdered my soul.
I ripped the humanity from my chest
and offered it to the silence.
Now they admire me.
Now they chant my name.
Only if they knew.
Only if they knew what I did
to be admired.
Only if they knew that the one they praise
is not a savior—
but a shadow
made of ash and guilt.
Only if they knew.
Only if they knew
the person they love
is the monster
who feels nothing
but pain.
A monster with no will,
no choice.
Just a puppet of cursed fate.
A monster who will live eternally—
not because he wants to,
but because the curse forbids him to die.
A monster made of sorrow.
A monster that even death rejects.
Only if they knew.