Write a diary entry for corruption
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I am in utter disgust of myself, and the person I have become
as power has knocked at my door. My answer to its call is not in
question, but rather the way I offered it into my life and the priority it
has taken. I greatly understand the essence of my own downfall into
corruption, but when I bare an abundance of anything, including that
of power, I desire every ounce in which is left of it to my ownership.
My wife, Lady Macbeth, has taught me as though no one else has been
able to, showing me that if one aspires to do something or be
someone, they must conquer it themselves, in knowledge that the
task will be achieved accordingly. I know good and well that I have
become the corrupt leader no one, including myself, thought I would
be. First, killing king Duncan, the one I was supposed to protect from
murderous acts, not partaking in the killing myself, and now having
planned murderers surrender under my power, ordering from them the
death of those who bare immense closeness to I; Banquo, and those
of Macduff’s relatives. Deceitful, condescending, morbid, I know, but
how can I survive my true ambition of reining as king, holding grasp
to the throne of Scotland if there bare several potential threats to it.
The state of paranoia in which I reside scares even the essence of my
own being. I have allowed the idea of power to take complete
precedence over my life. Ironically enough, if I do not wish to ignite
the flame of power to rule over my life, power itself, has no power at
all. Committing such deceptive actions, and bowing under the
pressure of murderous temptations is all of which I do not stand for,
but succumb to anyways. If it were not for my wife, the one who so
gracefully persuaded me into my first morbid act, with her conniving
charm, which I so ironically love, if it were not for her, for that, none
of this situation would have come to be what it is at this very
moment. Submitting the blame to others who are not myself, allow
me to think that the reality of something so tragic, yet so rewarding,
is in the best efforts for everyone involved. As one does recall, my
actions are those of which nature calls upon, and I too, just answered
what was asked of me. I think I am strong, I know I am strong, but my
influenced desires cannot control themselves. What scares me to bare
realization to is in the thought that I have killed once, and gotten away
with it thus far, fearing even more that I could good and well do it
again. The thirst, lust even, for power, which I so desperately crave
takes all control of me, leaving what is little left of my morals in the
vast distance
as power has knocked at my door. My answer to its call is not in
question, but rather the way I offered it into my life and the priority it
has taken. I greatly understand the essence of my own downfall into
corruption, but when I bare an abundance of anything, including that
of power, I desire every ounce in which is left of it to my ownership.
My wife, Lady Macbeth, has taught me as though no one else has been
able to, showing me that if one aspires to do something or be
someone, they must conquer it themselves, in knowledge that the
task will be achieved accordingly. I know good and well that I have
become the corrupt leader no one, including myself, thought I would
be. First, killing king Duncan, the one I was supposed to protect from
murderous acts, not partaking in the killing myself, and now having
planned murderers surrender under my power, ordering from them the
death of those who bare immense closeness to I; Banquo, and those
of Macduff’s relatives. Deceitful, condescending, morbid, I know, but
how can I survive my true ambition of reining as king, holding grasp
to the throne of Scotland if there bare several potential threats to it.
The state of paranoia in which I reside scares even the essence of my
own being. I have allowed the idea of power to take complete
precedence over my life. Ironically enough, if I do not wish to ignite
the flame of power to rule over my life, power itself, has no power at
all. Committing such deceptive actions, and bowing under the
pressure of murderous temptations is all of which I do not stand for,
but succumb to anyways. If it were not for my wife, the one who so
gracefully persuaded me into my first morbid act, with her conniving
charm, which I so ironically love, if it were not for her, for that, none
of this situation would have come to be what it is at this very
moment. Submitting the blame to others who are not myself, allow
me to think that the reality of something so tragic, yet so rewarding,
is in the best efforts for everyone involved. As one does recall, my
actions are those of which nature calls upon, and I too, just answered
what was asked of me. I think I am strong, I know I am strong, but my
influenced desires cannot control themselves. What scares me to bare
realization to is in the thought that I have killed once, and gotten away
with it thus far, fearing even more that I could good and well do it
again. The thirst, lust even, for power, which I so desperately crave
takes all control of me, leaving what is little left of my morals in the
vast distance
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