So why not spark the torch, and become just like the rest of the world? I think I've answered my own question.
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A blow torch pointed directly in my face. Why not turn it on and spark it, becoming the freak I always thought I was anyway? Wny not scar, twist and most importantly BURN the flesh keeping everything in? Keeping everything neatly wrapped up and together. Theres a very ugly person in me, waiting to get out. A person who can take what they want with no concern for others. Who can hurt with ignorance, who will hurt for fun. How nice that would be to act on homicidal, suicidal, genocidal urges! To repress no evil, embrace it all and unleash more than I have, to delve into overkill. Lately I've been daydreaming. I sit in the hall, earphones in ears and still hear the chattle's prattle. I can't believe I still hear them. Then, I get ideas, thoughts. Isee it happening... I see myself holding one of their heads in both my calloused hands and thrusting it as fast and hard as I can face first into one of the drab blue hallway walls. I see it splatter with inhumanly red blood. Bright NEON blood trickling down the rough, grainy wall surface, submitting to gravity as I've submitted to my own irresistable WANTS. They may be dead, but I do it over and over and over, breaking the "protective" bone into pieces a dog could easily swallow. All over my hands. All over everything. And if that isn't sick and sicker and evil, I just don't know what is. No wait, I do. My other fantasies, of course. Thats whats sicker. They include baseball bats and handsaws. Small explosives and hammers. If I just gave in to everything I felt, to everything my shoulder-demon told me...
So why not spark the torch, and become just like the rest of the world? I think I've answered my own question.
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