The Nightmare 19: Wrath

I was told I am pissed. Am I? I guess so. Meh. I wouldn't know.

I kind of wish - no, nothing. It's nothing.
It's nothing.

De. Ca. Dence.
  I am draped in loathing and hatred. Once more, I've dipped into the stagnant pool of ichor within my heart. I exude a venomous gaze as the dagger forged from Hades' excrement drenched in poison propagates a repulsively deathly aura. Rags of envy cling to my sickly frame. Fleeting dreams flit about me as annoying flies; the flies exist only to remind me of how deep I've sunken. I live in a well. I live in my own filth. I'm a skeleton. I'm a ghoul. And I look up, beyond rusted iron grates. My sight provides me a scathing image, one that grates my heart and opens rotting wounds.
  Other people. Above me. Other people. Below me. Other people. Around me. I swear and curse, scream and howl. My throat explodes with acrid sounds, hissing death, baneful growls.
  If only my hatred could be incarnated. If only my hatred could be made manifest. If only my hatred alone could burn you all to ashes, with which I may feed the tumultuous sea within my heart. I wish I could kill you all. That I was strong enough to grasp the handles of my imaginary knives and plunge my stakes of steel into your thieving bodies, vampires of my happiness. I wish I was strong enough.
  But I am weak. I am decrepit. I have spent so long crawling upon all fours and licking your spittle to satisfy my thirst that I have decayed. I've atrophied.
  So now, all I can do is gaze out of my hole dug deep into the meaninglessness and wish that my deep-seated hate will one day come forth and rip me apart, open up my bowels, skewer my limbs, feast on my flesh, accept my blood as sacrifice, and bring upon all an inferno of retribution, so that the skies are peeled away, the seas heave and bend knee, the earth is incinerated, and the festering wounds of the world burst open and unleash such terrible plagues that all of your minds are shattered and your bodies are broken, enslaved by the hatred, my hatred, that I have reserved for all life, and finally, at last, so that you will suffer as I have, know the terror of defeat, the horror that comes from the realization that you are weak and powerless, the all-consuming rage that threatens your sanity, the septic waste that resides in the pit of despair that you dig for yourself in a futile attempt to save the vile frame of your villainous mind, the wasting away in front of those who you thought were allies, and the knowledge that you are a coward too helpless to change anything.
  But until that day comes, here I will sit in my well, only to gaze out at a pitifully small world and hate. And hate. And hate. And HATE.

UNTIL AT LAST
I HAVE HATED ALL THAT CAN BE HATED
AND
I HAVE HATED AS MUCH AS I CAN HATE
AND
MY WRATH FEEDS UPON MY BONES
AT THIS LOCUS IN TIME
I WILL AT LAST
PERHAPS
BE ABLE TO MUSTER THE STRENGTH
TO FINISH IT
ONCE AND ONLY ONCE
FOR MYSELF ONLY
THIS STUPID FAÇADE
UNTIL
AT LONg last
I can grace my hands
with the stick of my neck
and squeeze
and squeeeeze
and squeeeeeeeeze
and squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze
aaaannnndddd ssssqqqquuuueeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

What do I wish for? I dunno. World peace?
Hahahaha.
That was my joke. But you'll never know. I'll never tell you. I wouldn't dare think of hurting you with the truth!

Just.
Don't.
Touch.
Me.