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!