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Here he is again, back in Gotham. Ready to put up the new skills to use. He must make it hurt. He must get back at him. There will be no hesitation.
Detonator in hand, he watched as his target reached the position. He had him right where he needed him, yet it was too easy. It was too simple. It was not enough. It wont hurt enough. It’s not the same.
It’s not enough. HE has to FEEL that pain. No. Matter. What.
But, is it worth it? He doesn’t let it falter him. He left it to drown with everything else in that pit.
Sometimes, he finds himself unable to do anything in the safe-house. Head all foggy, like it just cant reach reality. All that he has in these moments is tears that aren’t his own.
His plan is now in motion. Taking over crime was just one small part of it all.
…
But is this really his plan? Is it? Could he be playing himself? Is he? Did he?
He looks at that stupid white mug in front of him. This is it, he finally has his hands on him. He just has to be patient. He’s safe. He can’t hurt him.
…
Can he though?
Can he?
Can he?
Can he?
Can he?
Can he?
Can he?
Can he?
…
Patience, he is but only one piece of it all.
He will make them both hurt.
He almost did it. It almost worked. He almost got his wish. Yet, he still somehow got a win of his own. But it isn’t enough. It’s still not the same.
…
So sad the little bird was all alone. It would be such a shame if something happened…
Was it worth it? Did it hurt him? Did he feel that pain? Was it the same? Was there any satisfaction?
…
Was it enough?
…
It wasn't.
New dawn breaks, and the anchors still haven’t gone away.
It will always be not enough. It won’t ever be the same.