Hanging a Painting

Stirring up the worthless is so easy, like hanging a painting, first find the spot, then make the hole and put everything in place. When done right it brings the same pleasure, location is key. Inciting the masses, bringing havoc to the unsuspecting, and if allowed to run long enough the energy for me is pure electricity like licking a live wire, the same jolts, same convulsions, sending me to Nirvana, bliss, euphoria. It's funny, the vileness of society tastes so sweet like the perfect ice cream sundae on an extremely hot day. Where to strike next, you can't decide, it just hits you. This one needs a special touch, a little extra planning, must set the web just right like trying to hit the primer of a bullet with a hammer. The place hits me like a safe to the head, it almost boils the ground its so strong and it play out in my head, now to wait, I can't stand it, but I must, before the fire you have to strike the match. Want a taste, a look through my eyes? Na. You ain't getting it, you'll have to wait, see it with the rest of society. I'm the planner, the head of festivities, King of diseases, just reaching my Epiphany, my unholy need to for fill. It lays out like every other desired kill, my whim is the worlds curse, my decision, reality. Walls of red, floors of black, I'll stain them forever with the gore from your body.