My mind if that of sorrow and distraught, for not that of the ponies, thy would be lost. Loss-er still am i now that I am. From where do i go? I do not know. Hate and pain orient my mind at times... sublime.
To this I say destruction is the only course, the only course for my cure. Releaf... all the love of equine, given over a 6th time, has not vanshique this sorrow's rhyme.
Distance am I, such as I keep it... Isolation.
It has been this way a many a year, a 1,000 more perhaps? HAH, I relish in the thought. To leave these ponies who would say they love me, they Do Not!
Anger! Hate! I feel these in my side, in my mind.
I am the villain after all.
and Distrot is my name...
----------------------------_* So it Begins *_----------------------------
I make my way, that is to say over the courses neurons of thy head, to poisons that trouble my stars. They called destiny, or the sun, or Celestia if your a believer. But pardon if I do say do say the moon is luminescently clearer.
A tired innkeeper return and rests the keys on thee old nail, "To where you be headed now?" he asks, I return a jest.
My hooded cloak and cape, as not to relate to my presence. "It is here, it is there, it is no where to where I be heading", I tell him. He gives me a nervous glare, a stare, Ive seen this before, oh how I do adore it. "I'm sending off a goodbye", I then reply, "Ado".
It is through the marshes, and through the swamps, the poisons do recur. Green, green, and green some more my vision gazes and retorts. Sappy, soppy, ripe for the plopping right into a fine brew, ohh what a joy it would be to have such a stew. Gases and vines, this wraps its in my mind. The air, repairs, makes my time all the more aware as I stare... through a sheet tinted of green glass of venom, its Launch Time!
I only drink a vile, or two, or three... or four. I wish to drink until I have no more, but oh what a bore would be in store if I drank galore... heavy sigh, I pocket the rest.
----------------------------_* The encounter *_----------------------------
"On ward" I exclaim! I travel but a stride to find but whom? A mare. Unaware or my being, as I hide and chuckle at the thought of truth that 'seeing is believing'... she is now my pray.
Hmmm... yellow is the mares coat, with wing for flying, thats going to be trouble, unless shes buying mwhahaha. I grab a ville. *hck!* oh no, my vision. What is this miserable revision, tis not what I wrote, my throat. I can't stand up from behind this brush... mush, mush, drat it body mush! Oh sails it is no good. My breath is shallow, buck it, I miss understood. I know my sitch, it is the drink... sight darkening now, come on think, think think... think... crap...
----------------------------_* A Cease in the Rhymes *_----------------------------
