I'm not a bad person.

.

I don't like to see illness.

I don't like starvation.

I don't like cruelty, especially towards animals.

I don't like unfairness.

I don't like it when the bad guys get their way, especially over people that have already suffered.

I don't like prejudice.

I don't like it when people refuse to understand their enemies, because knowledge is the greatest weapon.

If they did, maybe the world could be filled with less hate and rage.

.

I'm not angry; I never act out of rage.

I think I'm better because of it, but I will never tell you that, because it might offend you.

You were always so strong-willed, and the very world quaked when someone set your temper off.

But you're a good person, inside and out, so I don't mind.

.

I like a lot of things, you know.

Simple things, things that normal people like.

I like honesty.

I like being silly.

I like laughing, and I like making others laugh.

I like learning about history, so that our ancestors mistakes were not made for nothing.

I like the truth.

I appreciate beauty.

I like the quiet of the cemetery near my laboratory.

It's as they said:

Dead people are so much easier to get along with.

I like a good scare.

I like to create, and I believe that everything is an art.

But you know me better than that.

It's not like I don't wear my flaws on my sleeve, but even that is an understatement.

.

I crave knowledge.

I like to dissect.

But you knew that.

I certainly told you about it enough.

It was quite the joke between us, at one point.

We drank together once.

You threw your head back in laughter, lifted your shirt, and asked if I still wanted to turn your skin into sandpaper.

.

I couldn't bring myself to be near you for a week.

.

Ah, but you see, I like some things that normal people don't like, and you will never know these things.

You see sometimes, when I'm alone and I let my mind wander,

.

I imagine killing you.

.

It's reasonless.

Purposeless.

I would gain nothing, when gaining has been my entire purpose of being.

And yet, I cry in ecstasy when I hear your death rattle.

I shake with excitement when the life leaves your eyes.

My heart leaps when you become cold and stiff.

I want to torture you to an inch of your life.

Your screams lull me to sleep night after night.

I want to remind you what fear truly is.

I don't need you to learn a lesson, but I still want to sooth you with my voice.

I wouldn't mind playing games with you.

.

Sometimes, you came to my lab and talked to me.

I liked our conversations.

I looked forward to them.

You're wise beyond your years.

You told me about your problems, and I enjoyed listening.

Sometimes, having someone listen is all we really need.

I could listen to you everyday.

I liked being a teacher, and I liked making you happy.

I think it makes up for the all the times I wanted to hurt you.

.

You were so frail in my eyes.

You're a bottomless pit of potential and strength, but I worry about you.

One time, you got me to bake cookies with you.

I giggled at the absurdity of it all, and you giggled with me.

I imagined snapping you in half and pushing you into the oven, right under the sweets.

I imagined shoving you down the stairs as you leave, and watching your limbs tangle into themselves.

You scraped your knee when you tripped over the threshold.

.

And I panicked.

.

I want to hurt you, but I never will.

Therefore, I'm not a bad person.

.

I live for dissection.

I live for destroying, and repairing, then destroying again.

Again, again, again.

My heart is racing when you can no longer be repaired.

The bone protruding from your skin is pristine and white.

.

But I'm not a bad person.

.

Sometimes, I wanted you in ways I didn't understand.

You died so viciously in my dreams, and never by my own hand.

I couldn't understand why.

Sometimes, I don't want you to die.

I like to imagine what it'd be like if I confessed these strange feelings to you.

I can't regret this.

I don't think I'm capable.

I do feel a bit empty sometimes, though.

.

Sometimes, I imagine that you chose me over your weapon.

You two acted like you were in love from day one, everyone saw it coming.

When you were still teenagers, he looked just like me when I was young.

How funny, even today the resemblance is striking.

.

Of course, he's not nearly as scarred as I am.

.

I think it'd be nice to fall asleep in your lap.

I'd always be clinging to you, you'd have to drag me around like a sad little puppy.

I'd buy you all the books in the world.

No one should be near me, yet you'd feel safe in my arms.

We could tangle up in each other whenever you wanted, but I admit it'd be mostly for your benefit.

I've never felt those carnal desires, but whatever.

I could do and be anything you wanted me to be, I'd change myself entirely for you.

That's not what makes a good relationship, but I know you'd accept me just how I am.

.

That one boy...Girl...Friend, you had, you accepted them, so why would I be any different?

I tell myself that, but I'll never know.

.

I drugged you once.

I wanted to cut into you.

To feel every inch of your insides with my bare hands.

To feel my spine burn as I touched yours.

To plunge my face near your gaping chest, and lick your lungs greedily.

To caress your womb, and imagine my own child inside.

You wouldn't fight.

If only for a few moments, you'd be mine.

.

You, my sleeping siren, flinched within the abyss, and I jumped out of my skin.

.

I couldn't do it.

.

Sometimes, I hear voices, and I see things.

I'm alright with it, but sometimes my mind plays tricks on me.

Sometimes, those voices last for days.

She still appears before me, after all these years.

That snake, she'll never leave me alone.

That's alright, sometimes I need the company.

I like being alone.

No one likes loneliness.

.

Sometimes, I wonder how you'll die.

It won't be by my hand.

Will it be natural?

Will it be in battle?

Will you die alone?

Just don't die alone.

I anticipate the moment none-the-less.

I calculate the possibilities.

It's likely that you'll die safe in your bed.

I don't know if it's right to be excited.

.

You would have left me eventually.

I would only get older, and you'd still be so young.

You'd be curious about me, sure, but the mystery will disappear eventually.

When you know everything about me, you'll wonder, 'what if.'

You'll say, "what if I wasn't with this old, tired man?"

I just want to hold you, and you'll want so much more.

I could try, you'd tell me what you want, but I could never provide.

One day, you'd just be gone.

That's alright, I forgive you.

You deserve more than me.

.

I wanted to tell you, the moment you were eighteen.

You stumbled in your graduation gown and into my arms.

You laughed about your height, my pet.

I wanted to kiss you.

I wanted to rip your tongue out, and loop it through your empty eye sockets.

I wanted to peel your throat into velvet ribbons from the inside out.

I wanted to stitch your wounds together with them, and observe you collapsing.

I wanted to tear you into pieces.

I wanted to obliterate you.

.

I let you go.

.

Sometimes, I think about my own death.

Not long though. The word is everywhere around me.

Death. Death. Death. Death. To infinity.

I'm too busy trying to enjoy myself to pay attention though.

When I do, I figure I'll go to Hell.

When I'm there, my organs will be torn and eviscerated.

Mangled and pulled.

Destroyed and repaired.

Again, again, again, for all eternity.

It's only fitting, and I accept my fate.

.

I believe that there is justice.

If there is, than let his silver claws take my organs.

My skin.

My muscle.

Every inch of my being, let him have to quench him.

Just, please, I want you to have my heart.

.

Sometimes, I forget things.

You get frustrated, because I'll forget what I'm talking about in the middle of a sentence.

I knew that giving myself a lobotomy and that giant bolt would affect me one day.

It was inevitable.

.

The worst part is, I can't even tell.

I devote my entire life to the pursuit of knowledge.

And now I wonder if it was for nothing.

I'm frightened, I don't want to forget anymore.

.

She sneaks up behind me, and my limbs are paralyzed.

My heart pounds, and I can't breathe.

I feel her eyes on my neck.

The blood, your blood is everywhere, it dazes me.

She skins me alive.

Her jaw is hanging to the floor.

Her face is rotten and disgusting.

Our eyes meet.

I want your help.

I'm so scared of the darkness.

.

Sometimes, I want to be the monster.

Sometimes, I get my wish.

.

You're the only one that calls me nowadays.

I can never think of much to say, so I let you do the talking.

That's alright, I did say I'd listen to you everyday.

I don't talk to anyone else, ever since your father and our old boss died.

His son is doing a good job, despite his quirks.

The old zombie dropped by once, and he looked just the same as he ever did.

He told me of that little lightning bug.

She died recently.

She might have loved me.

I forget about her though.

.

Sometimes, I wonder if, just maybe I should have settled for her over you.

But I'll never know.

.

That poor, blunt zombie.

He will never have a concept of his own death, so therefore no one else's.

He's always had the best intentions, but that's just the kind of man he was.

.

You're having a child soon.

I smile, because you've grown old and stern.

A pillar of flame and ice, all at once.

I'll always see you as that hot-tempered, kind little thing that I met just outside these doors.

So many years ago.

I want you, after all these years.

I never get to see your grown body, since you're in another country.

But I forgive you, because I could never be angry at you.

.

You should come home to the city sometime.

I'll casually tell you that you're the only thing I've ever truly wanted.

You'll laugh just like you used to, you'll be twelve again for a moment.

You'll grab your translucent neck, that I've already torn in millions of ways.

You'll pat my hand, and then your belly.

.

Please, I don't want to forget you.

.

Come home?

Won't you please?

Maybe I'd finally end your life.

Maybe it will be ok to forget.

.

What will I do after then?

I think I'll have a smoke.

I'll turn my bolt, and it will screech to a rustic halt.

It will break inside of me.

Then I'll kill everyone.

I'll punish without distinction on the winds of death.

I'll watch the world burn.

Because by then, I will forget everything.

.

I hope you're always with your weapon.

I hope you two will transcend time with your love.

My angel, I hope you live forever.

Please, be safe when you have your baby.

I hope it's a girl.

.

A/N

A quick little something. I need to go work on other things now.

Edit: This has been edited for style. I'm also worried for the reasons that people might like this. Ladies, fine gents, don't let your feelings pass like a bad bowel movement. If you like someone, tell them.