Leaving a letter, he wished would say more,
with a feeling of sinking in the pits of his soul,
a warrior with no land or lord,
he walks into the storm, his back to the open door.
"Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. ... Free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world. Was Rorschach."
1 Comments:
i like this one monkeyface
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