Driven by contempt, berserker lucid feels betrayed,
Vexed by nature helpless, information is relayed:
Independence fluctuates against the canvas white,
All solutions punished by the constant urge to fight.

Pleasure in displeasure seems so alien to some.
Wreckage, gorgeous wreckage, from the barrel of a gun.
**** yourself as fast as possible lest you remain,
How can one define enjoyment through the lens of pain?

***, sadistic fantasy, is sated by the flame.
Voyeurs, in their wickedness, become the reaper's game.
Violence is justified when peaceful means are banned,
Viciousness; a sin for which I feel that I can stand.

In your daft conscription, feel the shackles on your skin.
I've no mercy left for when your sentencing begins.