Inner Desires

Monsterous rage,
Slithers of glass pricking into my heart,
Pushing deeper inside with each stuttered beat.
What is the source?
I am
I and all my evil thoughts of brutality,
The pain I could bring to others
And the pleasure such pain would bring.

I am nobody.
A mere drop of blood within the system,
Washing blissfully in and out between others,
Like me, floating.
I hate,
And this makes me more powerful than ever could be conceived:
The hate I hold to myself like a gun
Waiting to explode and destroy.

Destruction of the weak.
What is weak, is worth nothing.
It is nothing more than silver dust and ashes.
Freedom begs forgiveness
And love.
I hate and I love and I cry for this knowledge
The happiness I desire is so cripplingly near
And yet I never reach it.