I've got incisions,
From my intuition,
Telling me to grip,
This bare blade tightly.

I constantly contemplate the killings.
Never someone I know,
Always strangers.

I envision the moans they'd make,
If I ever came to commit.
When I bare blood upon my blade,
And bring to life my first offense.

It's hardly out of anger,
Simply misplaced aggression,
And overprotection,
Of every type of human danger.

I see my psychiatric state,
Is unstable.
And if it ever came to it,
I know that I'd be able,
To draw upon a passerby,
With only bad intentions.
And create a ******* carcass,
Out of a criminal on a mission.