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i happen to know that, when i am pushed too far, i can striek very well with words. there have been a few instances in my distant past where i have lashed out with words, with the intent to hurt, and i have struck well. this is not something i am particularly proud of. in fact, it is somehing i keep a tight rein on. this is why i get worried when i get overly sarcastic, because from that point, the path to hell is a short one. greater fool i, for not realizing that one day, i would do the expedient thing and strike very deeply with but a few careless words. blackness i feel, yet despairing i am not. despair will not repair what has been done. despair will not change me such that this never occurs again. but still blackness, and a sense of evil, i feel for the consequences of my actions. these are not the actions of a friend these are not the actions of a person whose morals and ethics have risen above the pettiness of mundane reality sadness is not for i to feel rage is not for i to feel for these are the feelings of those who i have wronged guilt will not repair what has been wrought shame will not help those who are hurt noble promises to do better will not heal the wounded such is the nature of destruction when those destroyed are immaterial those key elements of life like trust, like friendship forgiveness is not for me to ask forgiveness is not for me to expect yet forgiveness is all i can strive for as i try to rebuild the shattered trust
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