delicate insanity

at times, when anger has started to disguise my soul, i look into the eyes of the person in front of me and imagine eating him. i would go for his left arm first, grab it and rip his biceps raw with my teeth. i would get a mouthful of his raw flesh, with shreds of it falling to the ground, blood-splattered. he would shriek in sheer agony while the dark red blood cascading from his arm, giving a peek at his white bone, almost tied by his translucently paling skin. before he even knew it, he would strive to run for his life but fizzle, and flop to the ground. i would rend the flesh chunk in my mouth, sucking every blood vessel in it dry. the blood would be so bitter, it almost tastes sweet.

at times, when rage has found its way to the tip of my head, i look into the eyes of the person in front of me and imagine killing him. no, i would persecute, torture, hunt him to death. spears, guns and knives. ropes, bats and whips. blades to slash his skin, while he's being tied to a rotten pole. honey smeared on his visible skin, sodium chloride soaked to the wounds scattered all over his body. ants marching from the ground, bald eagles patronizing at the sky. an electric chair to summon him up, while he's begging for mercy to go to hell faster.

at times, i really wish i could prevail my sensitivity and have the gut to do so. for at the end, i would only have the gut to do one thing: silence.