Post by Brandon Moore on Jan 13, 2021 4:41:16 GMT
Dear Michelle,
I write to you in a pit of despair and an ultra sadness. I look at myself as I sit here, puncture in my arm, and the life's light leaving my eyes as the EverBlack of the pupil erases the color surrounding. Within this moment I am confronted with the causes of my ineffective crusade for dominance over my self. This monster which dwells in the cusp of my stomach rears back before ripping through my flesh and taking control. It steers me towards the edge almost immediately.
And I don't know what to do.
How could you look at me after seeing that which I have become? An utter failure. Malk had taken what was rightfully mine. But I fear it was a result of my dwindling skill set, stretched out too far in my conquest across the board. Maybe I attempted to put too much on my dinner plate? The lesson has been learned as I've seized all ongoing vendettas until I get myself right. Until I erase the memories of my mind which plague me.
I am supposed to face Amari Kent in the main event of High Voltage. Amari is going nuts. His first main event in the big leagues. So of course his mouth gets to flapping like a whore on the side of the road. I just wish I wasn't too tired and stressed to offer him a proper match. One where we all know he would be crushed with relative ease. But there is just something missing. Can't quite put my finger on it.
His time will come though. Which is another fear I have. I am but dangling by one of the sliverest of slivers while trying to hold on to what conscience I have left. The beast within me is dying to completely break free of his binds and run amuck through this company and the other. This shit is taking every fucking thing I have to keep at bay. And I just can't take this shit anymore.
I am done.
My lovely wife, I just ask of you to remain there by my side as we discover the root of my problem and slash our ways from out of here. Maybe it is just time you and I disappear off into the sunset. Let all these wrestlers and owners kiss our asses as we depart over the proverbial horizon. Millions will watch as the Everblack just consumes our walking rotted corpses, welcoming us home. Maybe the truth is that we don't belong here.
Maybe we don't belong anywhere.
Because of the shame, cascading pictures from days and weeks before highlight the sense of purpose. We have become lost in the brilliance of light. Blinded by egos that ain't even our own, but of those who surround us. Those who wish they could do us harm. Knowing full well if they approached us in a now or never moment, we would just slit their throats and feed em to the dogs. Could we just pause the world now?
Can we just cease to exist?
Even if just momentarily. Take the time off faded in nothing to rekindle the desire to care more about our positions within our profession. I've become disillusioned by the fact that there are no heroes and villains anymore. Just young dumb ass punks like Kent that believe their own hype and the rappers who tell em they're hard as fuck but are really nerds. People like Kent are too wrapped up in the fiction which they live to make any sense out of what their problem is.
We get it dude, you're a "gangsta."
I have become tired, and restless. Reckless has become my nickname, damning those who are unfortunate enough to draw my name from the hat and dance with me in the squared circle. A reluctant dance partner is all that remains of the business' only Bad Guy remaining. Take yourself a look around this industry and take the truth like a shotgun to the face as I have. This is nothing more than a decaying generation. No plots to the story, just more of the same.
Every man, woman, and whatever else you claim in between, has lost the plot. Social media has become their one collective conscience. Their own personal judge and jury. So what do they do? They play make believe and present to people that are doing the exact same thing what will get them the next move. What gets the next follower? Our business has become nothing more than a popularity contest. And for this..
I am done.
Forgive me for what I am about to do baby girl.
Cuz everything is about to change.
Forever.
I write to you in a pit of despair and an ultra sadness. I look at myself as I sit here, puncture in my arm, and the life's light leaving my eyes as the EverBlack of the pupil erases the color surrounding. Within this moment I am confronted with the causes of my ineffective crusade for dominance over my self. This monster which dwells in the cusp of my stomach rears back before ripping through my flesh and taking control. It steers me towards the edge almost immediately.
And I don't know what to do.
How could you look at me after seeing that which I have become? An utter failure. Malk had taken what was rightfully mine. But I fear it was a result of my dwindling skill set, stretched out too far in my conquest across the board. Maybe I attempted to put too much on my dinner plate? The lesson has been learned as I've seized all ongoing vendettas until I get myself right. Until I erase the memories of my mind which plague me.
I am supposed to face Amari Kent in the main event of High Voltage. Amari is going nuts. His first main event in the big leagues. So of course his mouth gets to flapping like a whore on the side of the road. I just wish I wasn't too tired and stressed to offer him a proper match. One where we all know he would be crushed with relative ease. But there is just something missing. Can't quite put my finger on it.
His time will come though. Which is another fear I have. I am but dangling by one of the sliverest of slivers while trying to hold on to what conscience I have left. The beast within me is dying to completely break free of his binds and run amuck through this company and the other. This shit is taking every fucking thing I have to keep at bay. And I just can't take this shit anymore.
I am done.
My lovely wife, I just ask of you to remain there by my side as we discover the root of my problem and slash our ways from out of here. Maybe it is just time you and I disappear off into the sunset. Let all these wrestlers and owners kiss our asses as we depart over the proverbial horizon. Millions will watch as the Everblack just consumes our walking rotted corpses, welcoming us home. Maybe the truth is that we don't belong here.
Maybe we don't belong anywhere.
Because of the shame, cascading pictures from days and weeks before highlight the sense of purpose. We have become lost in the brilliance of light. Blinded by egos that ain't even our own, but of those who surround us. Those who wish they could do us harm. Knowing full well if they approached us in a now or never moment, we would just slit their throats and feed em to the dogs. Could we just pause the world now?
Can we just cease to exist?
Even if just momentarily. Take the time off faded in nothing to rekindle the desire to care more about our positions within our profession. I've become disillusioned by the fact that there are no heroes and villains anymore. Just young dumb ass punks like Kent that believe their own hype and the rappers who tell em they're hard as fuck but are really nerds. People like Kent are too wrapped up in the fiction which they live to make any sense out of what their problem is.
We get it dude, you're a "gangsta."
I have become tired, and restless. Reckless has become my nickname, damning those who are unfortunate enough to draw my name from the hat and dance with me in the squared circle. A reluctant dance partner is all that remains of the business' only Bad Guy remaining. Take yourself a look around this industry and take the truth like a shotgun to the face as I have. This is nothing more than a decaying generation. No plots to the story, just more of the same.
Every man, woman, and whatever else you claim in between, has lost the plot. Social media has become their one collective conscience. Their own personal judge and jury. So what do they do? They play make believe and present to people that are doing the exact same thing what will get them the next move. What gets the next follower? Our business has become nothing more than a popularity contest. And for this..
I am done.
Forgive me for what I am about to do baby girl.
Cuz everything is about to change.
Forever.