Mad They Call Me

It's not my fault I'm a little, as they call me, "off."

It's not my fault I like a little gore.

It's not my fault I like killing.

It's not my fault I like killing innocent citizens.

It's not my fault I kill the families of children so they can never realise what it is to have a family.

It's not my fault I want to gut everyone or anyone who looks me straight in the eye.

It's not my fault I have strange obsessions over any sort of murder or massacres that has happened on this human world of Earth.

It's not my fault I cut myself, drinking the blood out of my own veins and drawing the pentagram on the mirror in the liquid that apparently keeps me alive.

It's not my fault I sliced my testicles and fed it to my own flesh and blood.

It's not my fault I love the smell of flesh burning.

It's not my fault that the sounds of screams and terrified yells are music to my ears.

I know what you are thinking, I'm pretty much insane. No, you got it all wrong.

Mad, they call me.