I had never been accused of such a thing, but in dreams I keep getting lost in I lose every last thing that makes me whole. I see three.
One me cold, sharp, calculating, cruel.
Another, broken, almost dead inside.
The last one still filled with child like wonder, joy, and empathy.
I never thought the human psyche could shatter as easily as my job has me do. I break hundreds, if not thousands, of psyches each week. The reaper. It’s a lonely existence, but it’s mine…
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