Why is it you love to hurt? To stab, cut, and kill?
Beyond that face would one find more then selfish, stubborn will?
When circumstance and consequence travel hand in hand,
How is it no one seems to ever understand…
The pain inflicted by the hands attached to their own brains?
When thought and intellect collide,…who pulls at the reigns?
Hurt me. I am used to it. I’m sure it brings a thrill.
At least someone should benefit from the joy men seek to kill.
I can not stand to look at you. Your face, and voice, and brain.
I only hope the wounds you give will one day leave their stain.
A mark upon your soul,…crimson: the color of your sins.
I wonder if you could live with the effects of your decisions?
If every pain you inflicted was returned, in kind, to you,
I know you’d be too cowardly to suffer as your victims do.
Why do you hurt others? Why do you make them cry?
Oh, why do people hurt others?
K. Aldaya, 11/6/17