Abnormality

routine to tolerate. The scars are imbedded, lost in translation, spoken too softly, or maybe you didn’t hear me. Carved in reflection, the beast in the beauty, loathing and glistening, or maybe you weren’t listening. So where will you run when the sky starts falling? When your home is nowhere to be found? Will you remain unscarred beyond relentless crawling when your world comes tumbling down? Today I showed my face and whispers turned to screams, Visions of what might have been and what will never be. Cause and effect, and ignorance is bliss. Words can be weapons if that is what you wish. Pause and reflect with the blade at your wrist. The silence is deafening and screams all of this…

3. Question?

Torture: subconscious and domestic, how it feels to ship a “unit” home to you in plastic, cold storage and a casket, open your present and inside you find your darling pride and joy. Question your leaders and their methods. What we call freedoms have all boiled down to bribery. Our list of choices exists so we think we have some to make, but if you try you will discover the subtle difference between the complacent free and the ones that makes the waves. Why must we die when bureaucrats tell us to? Why must we sacrifice ourselves for the disbelief of others? Why must we be thrown away? Why must we die under false pretense? Torrential downpour of bodies bagged and toe-tagged with names and ranks or destinations but the only information of any importance is the number they’re assigned. What it is to be a statistic blows my mind. Why has our sense of humanity gone awry? Pseudo-villains, planted for propaganda, remind us who we can trust, who we can put our faith in, no one. Boasts of accomplishments falling on dead ears, a severe affliction of blind faith following the blind. Why must we die?

4. Epitomize The Weak

Compliments or insults, it makes no difference, I cannot tolerate your lies. Suffocate with vigor. There is no repent, there is no time to question why I do this, because I must or do I just find sick pleasure in displeasure, in your pain, in your fear, in your need to feel the feelings of my unbridled hate. There is hardly a difference between living and dying: only consciousness, rot and a peculiar odor. The time it takes to change from one to the other can be no more than the blink of a lazy eye if I decide. I can smell your fear dripping down your leg. There is no escape from my grip of death. Convince yourself you’re in a dream. Close your eyes, tighter; you’re still seeing things. Whimper, cower, shake like you did when you were a child hiding under your sheets from the beast under the bed. If you cannot see it, it cannot see you. That was rule number one and it no longer applies. Wake up. You have plenty of time for memories. Now focus on me. I am the last thing you will see. I am your docent for the descent ahead. Brace yourself and prepare. Beg. Beg for your family. Beg for your friends and your pets. Beg for all the things you would never do anyway. Beg for nothing, I do not care. You define desperation. You epitomize the weak, the helpless, the insubstantial. Your time has come. The knife slides in…