Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Don't worry, they give me pills for my rage now

I like it when they're dead.
There's more to adore,
More to cherish when a heart isn't beating.
Life is not a treasure, it's a chore.
My affection has died and once more, I
Send devotion to the younglings, in hopes
That someday their hearts will be strong
And not beating with the enchantment of love.

I appreciate them more when their breath is faint.
Or when the emotion dies upon their face.
Why, if I were a lesser being, I'd grow rather fond
Of making them miserable; making them suffer.
I am a monster, and not the kind that rapture built.

I am not of passion or love, there is no zeal or romance
Bursting through these veins and if I had to guess,
I'd say my heart is a nice shade of gray.
The only spark around here is my finger in an outlet.

But don't worry, I like them better when they can't kiss,
I like them better when they can't embrace and if I had
To feel one more caress, I'd rip out their tender hearts
And feed it to the starving.

Because (and let me tell you why)
My abuse is a forever kind of pain,
One that my "guardian" angel can't whisper away;
One born of greed and lust and other hideous things.

You know, things a child shouldn't experience at such an age.

12-27-11


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Don`t worry, they give me pills for my rage now

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