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Weak.
They're all weak.
Not one of them could stick up for themselves.
Not one of them could hold onto their dignity
When they saw me.
They ran,
They cried.
Begged
Screamed
Called out to their God and loved ones;
People who couldn't save them now.
Amongst the cowards were a few brave ones.
Ones who tried to fight for their life.
Kick me,
Punch me,
Bite me,
Shoot me.
Things they thought would help.
Things that didn't.
Sometimes I wish they do work.
Sometimes,
In the depths of the woods
Where I'm stuck with myself
And the lonely thoughts that echo in my mind;
I wish that they COULD work.
I wonder what it would be like if they could.
I wonder what it would be like
To be normal.
To be born,
Live,
And then die.
The cycle of life
That no living creature is safe from.
Except for me, of course.
My cycle must be broken.
Yes, broken.
So I wander the woods,
The world.
Day in and
Day out.
Wondering to myself
What death would be like.
What release would be like.
What freedom would be like.
But then,
As I watch my next victim
Setting up their tent,
Ungraceful and oblivious
With every move they make;
I think to myself,
That I enjoy this.
I always have,
And I always will.
I enjoy
The chase,
The kill.
The game.
It is the meaning of my existence.