• The world around me is dying.
    The world inside my head is thriving.
    With each dying human, a creature is born.
    Within my mind I make new worlds.
    I make new creatures, new people.
    Nothing like these weakling, these stupid morons that are dying with each bullet I shoot.
    I keep myself safe, within my thoughts.
    Or rather, I hide behind my creations, my people, and my creatures.
    I wish I could bring them to earth.
    To this place I despise so greatly.
    Maybe they could improve it.
    Maybe they could help.
    Make it better.
    But I doubt that.
    They aren’t real, just pictures, drawings, poems, nothing more.
    Even this, this isn’t real. This is just words.
    Nothing important, just like the rest of my thoughts.
    I keep myself safe here.
    In this world.
    I keep myself happy.
    In this world.
    I keep myself lonely.
    Hidden.
    Heartless.
    This place is so barren. So empty, but for myself and my mind.
    The people die. The gun within my grasp fires.
    A man drops to the ground. His blue eyes rolled back in his pale head.
    He is dead. Shot through the head.
    He crossed me. He won’t survive that way.
    And now, he is gone, never to rise again.
    His heart, a faint beating as he passes.
    Holding it in my grasp, I squeeze. Watching as it squirts out blood.
    Bringing it to my lips I squeeze again, pushing blood down my throat. It’s coppery.
    It’s disgusting, but delicious at the same time.
    My eyelids flutter in bliss as the thick slime of this man’s life slips over my tongue.
    With half closed eyes I laugh at the world.
    Laugh at the world with crimson life spilling from my lips.