I look in the mirror. Who do I see? I see a man who is weak. A man wallowing in self-pity. Fuck that man. I thought I killed him long ago. He has risen from the dead once again. How many times will it take. How many times will he be resurrected. He will be no more. The anger arises. A few swipes of a razor and that man is dead.
I cut his heart out and keep it as a trophy. An award for killing the weak bastard. Without the heart there will be no feeling.
Lick the wounds and taste the blood. The taste is bitter sweet.
I collect the bits and pieces and place them in trash bags. The rest can be flushed away. No funeral needed. This man will not be missed.
The weakness is gone. A weak man is no man at all.
What is a man? A man is a savage. He is anger. He is the distributor of pain.
Embrace the anger!
Embrace the pain!
I will be on the lookout. I will see the signs of the weakness. I will not be kind. I will not let him grow. Kindness encourages his existence.
If he does come back I confess that I will kill again. The next time with more anger, hatred and wickedness that defines a man.