I want a costume that would look silly on a normal human but on me looks amazing... I want to run across rooftops... I want wings to blossom from my back... I want to feel lightning flow through my fingertips... I want claws that explode out of the backs of my hand, claws that ruin flesh, mine or others... I want a sword that cuts through anything... legs that leap... fists that are made of fury... kicks that break stone... eyes that see nothing but the goal that is right in front of me, the goal which I will never achieve...

I want focus...
I want power...
I want purity of thought...
I want to feel my emotions so cleanly that I have no choice but to follow the bat that comes through my window...
I want light versus dark... I want to right the wrongs... I want to feel the violence pour out of me in my rage against humanity, against myself... I want justice in the form of a bloody carcass... I want to be the one who makes the choice between law or chaos... The Chosen One who can save the world or plunge it all into hell (literally)

The hero's journey must be mine... The tragedies of the world must tumble from my mouth and form my actions... My conscious will save or damn every life on the planet and dictate the course of my life... I will save EVERYONE... And no one will ever be safe again... The wind shall blow, my cape will billow, and I will rhapsodize for paragraphs on how the world owes me, so I shall blow it up...

I am the tagline which sums me up in the fewest possible syllables...
I am the one line response that reflects all the way back to my origin...
I am the splash page, resplendent in all of my four-color beauty...
I am the one, the only first print, under-produced, never mass-marketed edition that is so rare that I am Art, that I am sold at Southeby's for close to a million dollars...

I am my suit... and I run across rooftops in the night to protect a world who doesn't understand me and never will.

And I will not ask for thanks.