Ravaged,
ruined,
rotted,
I sit here now besotted,
for all that I have done,
all the good I've wrought,
is over gone and done,
my work has been for naught.

This day I leave the light,
and journey through the night,
my heart has been destroyed,
I sink now to the void,
and lay me down to sleep,
where demons stalk and creep.

My hardship pain and woe,
leave marks upon my bones,
my friends of youth now gone,
I truly don't belong,
In venom I abide,
my shadow comes alive.

I carried pain and heartache,
harmlessly though the years,
I soured my mind and body,
and overflowed with tears,
but never have I slipped,
no never have I slain.
I fear though in this moment,
I won't claim so again.

Agony is firm,
eternal, pure and clear,
it's quite good friends with Patience,
and comes from Yesteryear.
It lounges at your bedside,
and curls up by the fire,
it follows you to market,
and bed when you retire.
Agony is lazy.
It doesn't do a thing.
It stays beside you always,
and doesn't mind time's sting.
You might just think it breaks you,
or shatters through your mind,
but Agony's not Fury,
it left the heat behind.
See, people think it's vicious,
they think it wants them dead,
but it only really wants,
to live inside your head.
It simply stays in place,
and lets you ponder it,
til there is nothing else,
and your soul just ******* splits.

You put hooks through my shoulders,
and hung me like a ham,
you cut and sliced and burned me,
and hacked out who I am.

And when I clambered down,
and sought a path anew,
I tried to hide but couldn't,
from the hooks in my sinew.

Is my pain from metal,
yet embedded in my flesh,
or is it just the memory,
that wounds me now afresh?

Someday I will be free,
of your hateful love's black chains,
at least I know for sure,
I'll not be hooked again.

Words are such a fun, strange tool,
although they have too many rules...
Some words are big, some words are small,
exorbitant, violet, and tall!

See? Words are fun,
and if you're clever,
they might aid you,
in your endeavors.

For there are MANY words to use,
like happy, joyous,
hurt, or bruised?

The clever find the perfect spots,
to twist their words,
but not in knots.

Being strong is fine,
and wise is swell,
but being smart is key as well.

If you can fight,
or quote great verse,
but create nothing,
what's it worth?

Though some people are great and kind,
in case they're not...strengthen your mind.
Not everything is crucial practice,
but every weak man surely lacks this.

The room before you begs explanation,
so let me assuage your consternation,
and try to imagine if you can,
that despite the scene before you,
I am not a hateful man.

You see my startled listener,
I'm a man like most you'd meet,
I have to wake, and sleep, and eat,
but those needs are never the sum,
some men must build, some father sons,
some men must paint or write their stories,
or do great things to gain their glory,
but there are those with less noble needs,
who infest the garden of man like weeds,
these awful men must take their hurt,
and work it deep into the dirt,
they choke the garden blooming bright,
and hide their crimes from their fellows' sight.

All men suffer, as I'm sure you know,
but some men do not keep their woe,
some awful men must spread their pain,
for they cannot bear the weight and strain,
these weaker men seek out the kind,
the soft of heart and calm of mind,
they think they have a right you see,
to hurt the sweet and call them weak.

That's what this blood is from, you see,
for no-one hurts in front of me.

Even evil is divine.
Destruction, death, ruin, it's all part of the natural order the same as life and love.
So why do people see those things as evil instead of just...normal?
Normal doesn't make any sense anyways. Normal for a deer is eating plants, normal for a wolf is killing and eating a deer.
Killing's not bad. Nothing's, "bad", some things just don't do certain things, and only people have actually got the idiotic idea that anything THEY don't do must be, "bad".
We all have our place in the natural order. Predators, Prey, so on and so forth.
Just because I'm surrounded by Prey doesn't mean it's, "evil" for me to Hunt...reality isn't a democracy, and if I can **** the Prey that call my kind so evil...why shouldn't I?
Someday, this useless, dead hulk of a country I live in is going to finally die, and a lot of people are gonna die without ME ever having to bother them at all. Soon as folk can't just microwave their food, there'll be a lot of people that can't feed themselves anymore.
But the ones that get past the initial crash...they'll be interesting. And they'll make for the most fun Prey out there.
I can't wait to chase them...
They'll tell me what I'm doing is evil.
"Hush little one, there's no evil here. Only Hunger."