See your reflection off a knife,
do you see what they call a monster?
The shine of its teeth
the gleam in its eye.
Finding enjoyment and satisfactory
with killing and causing pain.
Who would accept that?
Who could understand and
be content with knowing that?
How could they not think you, in all,
are wrong?
Who could love and care
for such a corruption?
Who could love. . .
. . . a monster?
But perhaps another monster,
. . . . like me.
