Raw

Sociopathic tendencies.

You may be fond of fear
The instilling of it in the minds of others
The gravitational pull the earth forces upon you as you watch them tremble
You envy the fear
Oh how you have longed to feel
You are fond of open wounds, you create them on your flesh
They do not phase
You create them on others, simply to watch blood fall
To watch them writhe in agony
You feel no empathy, you wish to learn the mental despair a deep cut causes
They curse your name before you finally sever their spirit
You know no enjoyment, no fulfillment, satisfaction
You slice at them as an addiction
You anticipate what comes next
As the raw flesh oozes between your fingers
They scour the earth in search of your blood-soaked hands
They want to tap into your head
But how could they if you’re already dead?
Skull fragments rattle as the pierce of a copper cylinder courses your brain
Light carpet fibers stained dark crimson as the sirens creep.

Reviews

[Paul Bell]

Quite like your sociopathic poem.
Though if I was the one you were killing, then that could change of course.
But the journey through his brain sure is dark and definitely ending.