I do as well agree
This world is a sad one indeed
Earth can never be a place of peace
When evil still spread its seeds
Earth can never be home again
When selfishness continue to breed
History told us its tales
With the voice of its victims
And written when they bleed
Cut those pages in million pieces
And make them fire's feed
No magic wand can solve everything
It's only justice, what we really need

Maybe it's the blood
Maybe it's the scar
Maybe it's the gap
Or the bar

That led me back
To this place of insanity
I am a wrenched soul
Among humanity

For I know what I do
And how it hurts others
But I am a selfish *******
So I keep on until dusk it smothers

Oh what a corroding flavor this is.
A concoction of disregard and lethal words.
The wake of such leaves the mind baron.
The seeds have been sewn.
And with the coming harvest does each pew wreak destruction.
One of many in fact.
Sprouting new yet familiar cringes.
The root is that of hell fire.
And the forge is aflame once more.
A conundrum of gleeful dissonance.
The sear is almost as unbearable as the creation of its last creature.
The howls echo throughout the night.
Branding malicious means deep within the void it had become.
The scent of blood is in the air.
As the lust grows
So does its wretched grin.

It is painful to die...

That's one thing that pops out of my head when I think of dying.
Before, I always think it was easy; or easier
But it was *selfishness.

Daily separations made me numb, or rather; pulled me away from selflessness
But everything is different, from a different eye.

Atop the frail ego she mounts her merciless machine gun with which she mows down any speckle of personality that dares flicker amongst her immediate surroundings, until only her presence alone can remain untarnished and unfettered by sadistic, sardonically summarized ridicule, luminous and majestically radiating with solitary supremacy. Oh, the splendorous grandeur of self-indicted superiority, the rush of power and authority from diminishing another's essence with ruthless categorical association, the incomparable ecstasy of using their own positive attributes as their rudimentary flaws. Viscerally volatile, the cocking of the mocking gun's hammer is to be recognized as the phrase "You're just trying to be__". This is critical, for all too well she knows to a certainty that at the most essential level, one is only simply trying to be. And when you attack a person's will to try, their will to be, then you are taking aim at the one vital aspect of their existence which they hold any discernible dominion over: their character. The slaying is heinous and orgasmically fulfilling, for how can the perennial, separatist worship of Self be indulged in among so many of these "others"? But oh how exhausting it must be, the perpetually cyclic nature of the task. How can she ***** a light that doesn't exude from a distant source, but is a brother beam of the source they share? How does she extinguish the reflection of a flame off the water? Like fireflies on summer nights they disappear only to reappear again, somewhere else, reminding her of the irrevocable, irreducible power of being born and reborn again in the new moment. The self-aware *******, audacious enough to love themselves. How much of it do they really think they can withstand?
Reload.

you thought it was her decision
but instead it was you
she was ready to give you everything
but it was you who locked the door
you thought she was on the inside
ignoring the sounds
while you knocked and knocked
but those who live on the streets wonder
why you won't come outside
or let them in
you treat her like a guest
visiting her life
doing her a favor
forgiving her
explaining her away
waiting for her to open the door
the one you closed
and as you sit alone
she feels the same as before
lost
loving a man who cannot love anything
except his own mind

I could live a thousand lives
Off of the deaths I’ve wished
I could spread hatred like a deadly plague
Off of the thousands I’ve mindlessly kissed

I could save a hundred men
If I hadn’t saved myself
I could heal a hundred broken hearts
If I hadn’t selfishly left

I could’ve helped an entire country
Off of all the books I’ve read
I could’ve built a world of trust
Off of all the lies I planted in people’s heads

I could’ve done so much for the world
If I hadn’t done so much for myself
Yet despite all I did, I regret nothing
Because you live for no one but yourself