Methodical Disfigurement

Seconds pass as though years had come and gone

Though my mind is only tattered and torn.

Stricken of all logic, remorse seems nostalgic, the premise of revenge is forlorn.

Yet no words can express, but my will to survive is innate.

For the soul for whom took thine innocence away.

From the greyness of my soul I cannot fall short that fate exists.

Intentions become necessity. Within a breath of insistence.

For only the cruellest of gods could foresee this torment.

Every breath could be the longest I would ever take.

I am lost in plain sight at the horrors of my past, though I resist temptation to forgive.

My hands are as calloused. As my soul from the weight. Of the world. Within my fists. X2

What benign existence, for whom is entitled to inherit?

And with these hands

I'll peel your flesh from their eyes.

As repayment from this agony

And what was left behind.

Disfigured sense of what I once despised.

Only to haunt me in my dreams are the fantasies of seeking vengeance.

To feel the torment I once felt, forced to mutilate their sense of humanity.

I will take your right to breathe. You once took that right from me.

By removing your lungs. And feeding them back to you. They seem like victims.

I was the one once victimized. Yet my actions are justified.

By the years spent with my veins bursting from my eyes.

But if I did not execute them, if I did not take their life.

I would seek forth the means by which so they are utterly dead inside.

Forcibly feed them the limbs and organs of their own children and wives.

Watch me slice open their loved ones and dine on them until I split my own sides.

But all is not fictional within the confines of my own mind.

I often dream of the day when I could finally meet you face to face.

Your back was turned, your eyes were open wide.

My fingers intrude on upon both your sockets from behind.

With broken glass I'll carve my name into your gaping chest.