How can I say I am content?
I am not. I can say I am, because I can act like I am. But really, as much as I say it, my content is limited– almost entirely non-existent, actually. But I am content. I need it not.
No. What I require is something sinister. To own, to control, to contain, content. My motivation is power. My thirst is unquenchable. My love? I have none. Only hunger.
And even with that, I am not content.
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