Secrets

Vision starts to blur once he is mentioned.
The mind feels weak and delusional, an easy target for attackers.
Watery, strangely figured waves gradually turn crimson...and we wonder why.
The hands are lifted, the hands of the criminal, stained with metallic crimson liquid.
Was he the culprit? Or the wrongly framed?
Does anyone truly know other than the one with lips sewn shut with threads created by the Moirai?

What is it with these secrets hidden when they are all the more exposed to who is all around?!
Was there truly a point in such ridiculous profanities that escaped sewn lips somehow?
They do no good..only the contrary of reopening the same scar that only started to heal a day ago.
How can they erase these memories..these records..in that mind..comparing to an openly written novel in the midst of a candlelit room before its single light was snuffed by wind.

And this very novel..is it published?
No..a mere drafted work to which even the author continues to work in secrecy while greedy, filthy hands run across each and every word in hopes of soaking it like ballpoint pens with ink. 
How was this unfinished project touched beforehand? It is but pressure that weakened his hold on the leatherbound book as it slowly fell from his grasp, hitting a dusty floor with a "thud", hundreds if not thousands of gray, clawed hands simutaneously reaching for its pure gold, snatching from the creator's eyes and greedily claiming for their own.

And then what before?
...The crimson waves of course. What? It's relation to this very topic?
Why surely it must have been figured?
For..that triggered..the inspiration. 
The betrayel by his father. 
And the novel? Hah! A mere scrap of paper bearing but three words:
"I loathe you." Before drifting to the wind.
A useless novel indeed.