Sad I have lived, and sad I shall die
for once, I understand the burden of the gods
To get the most horrid thoughts
To feel the most unquenchable anger
To know you have all the power to carry out you thoughts-
To kill-
To imagine heads bursting open
Bright red all over my canvas, my world,
With knowledge of feeling the upmost satisfaction
Knowing it shall last a second, and then stretch to seconds, minutes...
Knowing of the tide, the wash over of power, how it shall pull back, and rise forward with force, as it always does
Knowing yet with each passing day
It, those pesky feelings, linger, and questioning...
What is wrong with me?
I am no god,
No master of lives
I am simply a man with the simple capabilities my hands possess
What is wrong with me?
(nothing...)
Why do I....
enjoy this?
-h.