Playing God

    Every time I am reminded what resides outside these walls, I want to cut. Not only myself, I want to cut the walls, I want to cut bodies that aren’t my own, I want to cut animals, I want to cut civilizations, I want to cut artistic expression in all forms. I want to cut my eyes out, I want to cut my mouth farther apart. I want to cut my ears off, I want to cut my hands. I want to cut respect, disrespect, responsibilities, hatred, love and I want to cut myself entirely out of this world’s picture. We’ll start small if we have to, why I’d love to.
    Cut me out of this family, sear me to pieces and reestablish me elsewhere, somewhere desired rather than desirable. Place me in respect, truth, justice. I don’t even need art or language, your dystopia is the equivalent of my utopia. I’d exist in silence forever if it meant I didn’t have to look at the faces or witness the events I do. Everything is physically threaded lies, people are lies, events are lies, emotions are lies, vacations are fucking lies. When you provide my long anticipated vacation, I won’t want to destroy yours.

    If I could, I would destroy everything with intricate detail so there wasn’t a fragment left to be reborn in this pile of shit, ashes, whatever. Were it possible to be grafted onto a time line, I’d destroy myself first. But unfortunately it’d have to end as me playing the hateful, resentful, providing eternal favor, God.