I have spent much time ruminating on my creation--on all Creation, perhaps--and find myself invariably, torturously, sickened. There is nothing more disturbing than looking outwards and seeing yourself reflected upon the face of that which you despise, to see your clouded image mirrored within their eyes and mind.

The more I think on it, the more I find myself wont to continue. The secrets of the Universe, of life, and creation, let them stay buried--or acknowledge the thing that looks unto you and turns your innermost faults outwards. Man, by his nature, cannot make a faultless thing, and striving to scrape oneself, ones wholly unholy creations, of imperfection only makes a monster of our own reflections.