whilst tearing his mind and heart to shreds, i screech into the dead of night. i ask for a response, a reply, a ray of clarity. when that transparency comes i will not know. for i am plagued by the need for destruction. it blinds me! through slurping his brain and removal of the legs, i stay collected. i know what i have done, or i believe i do.

searching for the light, i take myself outside. i leave him sprawled out on the floor. he looks his best this way. the sidewalk has become a banshee, and it will never stop squealing. to avoid this conversation, i walk through the grass instead. my red stained shoes become green stained shoes. maybe this is the sign i needed. THIS is my clarity.

walking back home through the grass, i am elite. i am the great, and the only greater is the dead. thats why i put him down. he wanted to be great. the grass taught me this. the blades cleanse me, and i walk anew. the sidewalk shames me and believed i would stain it red. what's so wrong with that anyway? why is beige any better? the sidewalk should be as accepting as the grass, but it won't be. the grass that does get through the cracks, becomes lifeless—dead. the sidewalk isnt immortal, but i am. the grass isnt immortal, but i am.

inside we meet again. i want to be the greatest of the dead too. my soul cannot rest until i become the greatest.