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The Kill
Why? Why? Why?
Why do I feel this way?
I hate them all.
They drive me insane.
I want them gone.
I need them gone.
They must go.
If not by their own will,
I will make them, no matter the cost.
They will go and never return.
In a pool of fluid they will lay.
The knife in their chest.
Their heart no longer beating.
They will fall,
and I will regret nothing.

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