Thoughts of a Loner.

Theatre. (By Sapphirus)

He prowled the corners of his own making,
A shadow draped in the crimson echo of regret,
Each step a deliberate dirge in the cathedral of decay,
He was the orchestrator of carnage,
Claimed the night as his very performance,
Where every cut was a note,
Every spill of blood was a verse,
In the bitter elegy of his soul.

He spun his tale with a razor's wit,
Justifying each act as a necessary purge,
Demons that long festered within his marrow,

"Allow the knife to sing hymns for your mortal heart~"

He murmured,
The metallic hymn drowning the silence,
While the glint in his eyes spoke of madness refined.

Beneath flickering neon and shattered glass,
The scene of the play unfolds,
A macabre dance of horror,
Bodies strewn like discarded pages,
Each splatter a stanza in his poem of ruin,
In that eerie tableau,
He revered in the art of ending,
An alchemist transforming anguish into grotesque beauty.

As he recited the litany of his sins,
A revelation wove itself through his tapestry of despair,
For every life he claimed,
For every soul he condemned,
Was but a mirror of his own relentless self destruction,
In the darkest corner of that blood soaked confession,
He discovered the truth,
Hand that dealt the fatal was,
Was hand his all along.

Now as the echoes of his final laughter mingle with the silence,
He stands amid the ruins of his shattered soul,
A killer not of others,
A killer of his own essence was he,
A twisted and self inflicted epitaph carved in gore and remorse,
A man who had justified murder,
For salvation from torment,
Only to find that his own heart was the very last to be freed.

In this theatre of horrors,
The truth remains a cruel jest,
He murdered every being but in the end,
Himself.

~ Sapphirus