Of all the countless nights of lost sleep, the feelings that have crept up on me like a hunter in the night; this facade, this mask that I wear is slowly cracking -- breaking -- I can feel it. I'm a child. A boy, still lost and alone in his own thoughts, surrounded by his own demons. Visions of the fateful day when what I held so dear to me was lost replay vehemently in my subconscious. It wasn't my fault. I know it wasn't. I could see that in the hollow eyes of my dead mother.

People think I'm a shallow soul; cocky and headstrong. What more can I be? There's angsty and withdrawn, but even that desirable track is overrun by manic depressives and psychotic murderers. I wanted something different. I decided to wear this mask. The truth is, I'm scared. Yes, I'm scared. No one would truthfully believe that, would they? That gutsy Dante... weird guy, doesn't bat an eye at a bullet wizzing by his chin. Of course he doesn't. That sort of thing isn't of any concern. Maybe I am shallow, maybe I'm not seeing the whole picture, or maybe I refuse to. People judge outrightly on only what they wish to believe is true. No one sees the real me. No one sees me as just another man with his own set of problems.

I know people, I joke with people, I find people attractive. I just want to have a normal life, I guess. They say the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. I think they're right. I never asked to be the son of a demon knight, I never wanted to be the hero destined to follow in his father's footsteps... I never wanted to lose all that was dear to me. I never asked to be pursued by the denizens of hell. Being a hero isn't as glorious as people think it is. It's not what it's cut out to be. It's not about the women, the clothes, or the movie rights. Being a hero isn't about the fame. I'm not a people's hero - I'm no goddamned Martyr. It may look like I'm fighting for all of humanity, but in reality, I just want my revenge; I want to be done with it. I never asked to be a hero. I never wanted to be one.

I'm afraid; afraid to become attached to people. I can't love any more. I can't care. Whenever I do, something happens. Someone gets hurt. The people I care for vanish before my eyes, slip from between my fingertips and disappear into the night. I'm helpless to stop it, so I decide not to care any more. Not for anyone. Not even for myself. It's not worth the heartbreak, not fair to the people I want so desperately to care about. Instead, I become falsely selfish, while selfless at the same time. Come what may, with each strong heartbeat that remains in my chest, I learn to resist these feelings that well up inside, pressing harder on my mind until I want to break down and cry. But I can't cry.

Devils never cry, and neither do I.