Methodical Disfigurement - Hiroshima Will Burn

From the moment I was born I was deemed ineffectual

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.

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