Victim Of Insanity

The sensation tears my limbs apart. I can’t continue walking if my legs are not helping me move on. The only thought that crosses my mind is that of anger that travels through my veins in search of a victim within me. My blood will not find that victim within me, because I’m searching for something outside my own imagination. Society doesn’t even stare at me when I try to grab their attention. They throw a glimpse at what seems to be nothing. I’m their nothing.I’m tired of being nothing. Now I understand the evil that lingers through these serial killers minds. I understand why he killed the president simply to be stuck in history books forever. Why do we all want to be popular?

I petrol the city at night in search of that victim. I manage to fix my legs and get them to cooperate. “Cooperate with me!” I yell with such power at the empty alley I stand in. The few people that glaze through throw a weird facial expression at me. I look insane. I am insane. I keep searching, and searching. I keep stalking, and stalking. I’m not going to stop until I find that person. That right person that deserves to be tortured and mutilated. Yes, people deserve to feel pain. And the thought of me going to hell for being myself doesn’t scare me. Hell is probably better compared to life itself. There is no obstacle worse then trying to breathe in a smoke zone all your life.

I’m never going to stop until I find you.

Never!