My birth has created, damaging deficiencies,
a recycled collection, of base epiphanies,
found in the dark wood, I have proudly grown,
to be lost, is to be found, in a twilight zone,
inadequacies continue, reasons to murder pile,
it’s not just me; with horror stories, authors are for miles,
I find a shiny different star, saying that I’m right,
your numbers are so wrong, to carry on the fight,
as primal kills, and modern hates, sharpens my blade,
I become assassin hypocritic, adding to the shade,
as you make it look so easy, to be compatible,
thus, a dream massacre within me, whirs regrettable,
my wrath prolongs it’s grasp, around your busy neck,
with such baseness; I start to cry, as you hit the deck,
as acid burns my eyes, I shall not escape,
if you’ve signed my death warrant, then that will be my fate,
but if you grant me clemency, I will have to learn,
that a man cannot be god, I’ll keep my soul to burn,
to stoke the warmth of gratitude, and some self-forgiving,
and not to carry; all the wars, mankind is reliving,
so, in all things, such a concept should re-bloom,
in such a horrid crisis, I realise, that I’m you,
trying, prying, building a mortal day,
sending these four letters, I, O, U, and, A!