Author's Note: This poem came to me all at once, like poems usually do. I changed the ending so it made less sense on PURPOSE. :P I was originally going to keep it sad and worrisome, but that's not Johnny at all, now is it? Yes, he rants sometimes about the unfairness of it all. He has even compared his own rants to being as bad as gothic poetry. But even in dire circumstances, he's a fighter. Johnny is a fighter. He always will be.

I only use knives for my work
For guns and bullets repel
They're a sudden end I don't desire
For I have a story to tell

I am no bogeyman at night
Nor a prisoner of the day
I am simply a modern human
And, like all, I have dues to pay
Most payback of this small world
Consist of bills and threats
I have no need to worry of this
For I have a far larger debt

This debt is what keeps me alive
It's sad, yes, but so very true
It repelled all forms of death
And now Death is demanding his due
I did not ask for this gift
Of never fearing to die
It was forced upon me, really,
I insist that's not a lie

If I had been given a choice
I would have chosen another
A different path, even a shorter one,
Would not have left me smothered
I may have lived a normal life
Cut short, maybe, but a happy one
I might have closed my eyes and smiled
For I knew my work was finally done

Instead Death slammed me against a wall
Holding me up by my neck
I cried as it tore out my sanity
Out of all, it chose MY life to wreck
It threw me to the ground in disgust
And proclaimed my immortality
Death sneered and growled a command
I held my head up limply

It pointed to a wall in my home
And pointed back to me
A knife appeared in each of my hands
His point I did not yet see
Red blotches covered the once white wall
Just as a form slammed behind it
Whatever it was let out an eerie shriek
It had to be some kind of trick!

But then the blotches began to drip
The room strongly smelled of copper
It was blood that was restraining that thing!
Disgusting cells of red and white were its captor!
Death said that thing was my insanity
A physical form, barely restrained
He said I needed pay in the lives of others
For the 'gift' I had attained

I tried to refuse and kill myself
But the blades shattered on impact
I see now that this was neither gift nor curse
It's just a matter of fact
I had to keep the wall covered in blood
And be tormented by the voices of Death
Or else I may be tortured for eternity
And never be able to take my last breath

I always try to kill people who deserve it
Ridding the Earth of its scum
Trying to ignore the face in the mirror
The monster I WON'T become