HOME | DD

Description
Nights like these I find myself outside, enjoying the feel of night air on my exposed skin, a cigarette dangling so precariously between my finger tips.

There is so much anger inside of me. It rages and sweeps like the components of a time bomb. All I'm waiting for is the trigger to be pulled, the cord yanked. I wish to explode. I wish to release my anger and venom filled words on to this world. I want to hurt people. I want to see their eyes fill with pain, I want to feel their hearts shatter under my fury.

People think they know me. They see surface details, things I say now and then but no one knows me. No one knows of the beast I keep leashed, day after day. They do not know of the struggle I have to not slaughter everyone in my family some nights. It would be easy. To get a knife and slit their throats in the dead of night. It would be so easy.

I walk the line of what some call insane, psychopath - whatever, everyday. I keep myself in check - I keep every ounce of emotion withheld. I withdrawn into myself.

People love me for it, ironically. They call it mysterious and alluring. Probably because they're flirting with danger. They never take it seriously when we lie naked in the sheets and I whisper I've killed a man. They think I'm joking but I've been confessing for years. Am I to blame for people's stupidity?

Am I to blame? I exhale smoke from my lungs and look up at the night sky wondering if there really is a god. If so he's a sick bastard. He's seen what I've done and yet he has not helped me. Faith. Such a pathetic thing. Love, worthless.

I reach for the gun that lies beside me, feel its weight and presence in my hand. More there than any god or fleeting emotion. I lift it to my head, release the safety

boom.

Description
Nights like these I find myself outside, enjoying the feel of night air on my exposed skin, a cigarette dangling so precariously between my finger tips.

There is so much anger inside of me. It rages and sweeps like the components of a time bomb. All I'm waiting for is the trigger to be pulled, the cord yanked. I wish to explode. I wish to release my anger and venom filled words on to this world. I want to hurt people. I want to see their eyes fill with pain, I want to feel their hearts shatter under my fury.

People think they know me. They see surface details, things I say now and then but no one knows me. No one knows of the beast I keep leashed, day after day. They do not know of the struggle I have to not slaughter everyone in my family some nights. It would be easy. To get a knife and slit their throats in the dead of night. It would be so easy.

I walk the line of what some call insane, psychopath - whatever, everyday. I keep myself in check - I keep every ounce of emotion withheld. I withdrawn into myself.

People love me for it, ironically. They call it mysterious and alluring. Probably because they're flirting with danger. They never take it seriously when we lie naked in the sheets and I whisper I've killed a man. They think I'm joking but I've been confessing for years. Am I to blame for people's stupidity?

Am I to blame? I exhale smoke from my lungs and look up at the night sky wondering if there really is a god. If so he's a sick bastard. He's seen what I've done and yet he has not helped me. Faith. Such a pathetic thing. Love, worthless.

I reach for the gun that lies beside me, feel its weight and presence in my hand. More there than any god or fleeting emotion. I lift it to my head, release the safety

boom.