After another fall from heaven
You saw me licking the blood off my fingers again.
Digesting my sins like rubbery meat.
Cruel, you say?
Well, what did you expect?
I am human.
I am cruel.
I’m a sadist in secret, the euphoria rushing trough my head, my veins.
The misery of others helps us exist.
And your open abdomen attracts us as hungry wolves.
Eat or be eaten.
Feral, we will consume until we die.
We are destroyers. We have no pride.

Me, I am the worst of them all.
I always think I deserve better.
I make up excuses for my filthy thoughts. I name them demons and blame them for my mistakes.
I find pleasure in tearing down what others built, I find relief in destroying myself.
I hide behind words and call it poetry.
“The wound of existence aches” is really just another way of saying “I am scared, scared, so goddamn scared, won’t you help me?”
Bloated. Fatal.
I neglect my own name.
I am a destroyer. My stomach is heavy with shame.

Sometimes people disgust me. But I’m no better than they are. I’m a destroyer too. And that hurts.


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