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.