Work Text:
Morality of one's actions
Who am I , if not a person.
A righteous man.
A loving being.
A living soul.
With morals
standing
breathing.
The motionless body,
splayed on the pavement.
Glossy eyes
devoid of light
with fear and blood
pooling b e l o w ……. low
The item,
tool of H E L L
resting,
watching,
(it wasn't wrong)
B R E A T H I N G.
BORN OF DESPAIR,
judging…
(he must have been so scared)
…yet no punishment,
for the demon lay
torn
cold
still
hated by others
And here I stand
colder
hellish
changed
tinted red
Now souless
And praised by others.
...
Now my nights
pass so much slower.
The ticking and ringing
counting the hours.
Too slow.
My thoughts swirl.
Tangle.
Hurt.
Haunt.
Kill.
My body
aches.
My mind
torn asunder.
Hesitant.
The tool
rests on my desk.
Watching me.
Judging me.
Taunting me.
I no longer hesitate
I no longer feel
I no longer see
I no longer breathe
I no longer am.