Monster
by daniel-michael-sullivan
I am not a monster. I am not a monster.
I search the city at night,
Cursed with a wicked obsession.
An ungodly addiction, an unwelcome affliction.
Where have my morals gone?
Or was I just born without them?
If I can't remember them, did they ever exist?
Is it my fault I'm a beast that isn't easily pleased?
To the swallower of anger, I am a masked marauder,
To those unknowing of fear, I am a plague they cannot bear.
One stare, so reckless, ready and content.
They vow to put me and my existence to an end.
I'm shuffled, I'm lost, they simply cannot understand.
Not a day passes where I contemplate if I'm nothing but a flaw.
God makes no mistakes, either inaccurate or nonexistent.
My desires, even bringing me to my knees,
So tired, yet so livid. What a large temptation,
The things we have in this world.
Drugs, money, power, fame, success.
Yet, not exactly fitting to the animal that I am.
The animal I've been, or the animal I've become?
No one cares, why even bother.
I'm a monster. I'm only a monster.