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in my desolate room no lights no music just anger disgust hate distaste for life but the joy of living is only felt when i kill and i feel better i am loved, loved by many, hated by more, (though that isn't of much concern) dancing to life's twisted flute has drawn me numb, desensitized hell came for me, and i put it out i see this flower field and the only way i know is paved in bloody ash all that is real is annihilation all that is weaker must die by the steel of my hands for there is no other way uproot the tethers of life and humanity lest thou be taken by it, consumed by it. there is no end to it. if i don't take, i will have nothing, and they will take more.