A punch and a kick.
Two for added pain.

To hurt the person you hate most.
For a supposedly good reason
you refuse to justify.

How does it do any good?
Violence,

pain,
silence.
For a while.

Screams, distress,
final gasp of life.

Just another nuisance
to the murderer you don’t want to be.
Just another hurt
you caused but don’t want to feel.

Jack the ripper could do it,
you can’t.
Mass murderers and suicide bombers.
All kill and ruin,
destroy and damage.

The evil you tut and frown upon.

Look at the hypocrite you’ve become.

Empty and alone,
tired and bemused.

You imagine you’re the American psycho.

To kill the person you hate most.
For a supposedly good reason,
you refuse to justify.

Standing on the cold, dirty street of
‘what to do.’
Wind chills you to the bone of what you’ve become,
what can’t be undone.

Jealousy is a sickness,
thought you could cure it with hate?

Two wrongs don’t make a right.

Violence is not an option.

You now can’t fight through this plight.

The cold silence escapes your frozen lips,
in a breath of hope.

But no,
they will never ever be again
alive.