Saints and pychos are not born,
but created
by a world without meaning
where nothing at all is sacred.

I have no plans.
I've lost my sense of self.
I'm on the edge something dark.
I don't think
I can be helped.

I always wanted to make the world a better place.
But I'm not used to getting what I want.
The world has kicked me
in the face.
And a growing hatred starts to haunt.

I don't know what's coming
but it doesn't look good.
Something terrible grows inside me.
Keep your distance, I think you should.