(no subject)
This is not sane.
This is what I tell myself over and over as I stare at the inhumanity plague caused by my careless retribution. And just thinking about it is making me nauseous and pains me within to bear the haunted retrospective of my mistake.
You’re not sane.
That is what I’m told to believe by the strangers whom I meet at parties and business meetings but who are they to point the finger? They haven’t got a clue of what it’s like to marked for life with the number of the beast on your forehead. Sure, it’s a coincidence when somebody is reported and feared missing and evidences suggested that I’m the perpetrator of the crime. Always a mystery.
I wish I knew what was of me and why I say or think the way I do but I am what I am and that’s a dangerous thought, even for the most intellectual of any kind that bear to mind the riveted psychopath killer that has no memory of any wrong doing or so to speak.
I am not well. And I am not stable. I have the tendency to swarm recklessly and emotionally without advancement warning just to say that you weren’t warned.
I am not hopeless. But there isn’t a cure known to retaliate my mental disease.
I am not a monster and I wish everybody would quit staring at me as if I were one. I just made some mistake in my life that has infected everybody in a 3000 miles diameter of me.
The lust for cold blood being spilled on the bedroom walls...the ecstacy that’s all the rage of feeling immortal...the thirst for power that griped the soul and mind and enable the control of sanity.
I wasn’t always like this. I too came from a family of loving values and morals but it was just that that has made the monkey grew curiosity and hung itself on the doorknob naked coked out of mind. It was being tired of feeling nothing and knowing all too much that gave me get cheap thrills by injecting myself with horror and impotent. I didn’t want to live but I knew I was incapable of pulling off a suicidal mission. So instead I would kill myself with pleasures and hope that somebody else would delete me from their file.
I am, after all, a robot. No heart to judge a man feelings and no brain to think from right or wrong, just a walking mechanical genius with no soul to show for. Yet, I still bleed the same color of blood as of you. Strange, perhaps? Maybe not when compared to the on slaughter of thousands in Iraq. People being killed to make way for the western democracy, an US of A idealism. Women being raped ‘cause the soldiers are frustrated and children are being spent as if they were possible threat.
On the TV, I see people being mislead into believing that what we’re doing is justifiable and that we’re helping Iraq build a better future.
In the paper, I read the stories of men being beheaded and how the prisoners at Abu Ghraib were treated.
How can I be the monster of a crime when the US government trained me to be this way. I’m just following protocol. My orders were given and I was smitten to be honor such a request from higher commands.
Being on the field with my brothers in arm searching for peace in a chaotic state of mind. Drenching in the heat with 50 pounds of armor and utility as we roam across the stench desert of lost souls. This isn’t what I thought would become of my enlisting years ago. I wanted to see the 7 seas and continents, little would expect of the tragedy of 9-11 and at the time, I thought what I was doing was right. To avenge for my fallen comrades.
I too rode the streets with American flags on the radio antenna and littered the lawn with desperation of a tearful joy.
And I too stood by our President.
Now it’s too late to take back the ugliness of our presence for as of we becoming the face of our hidden enemies. I wish there was a way to express the sorrow and guilt I have as I gun down innocent civilian but I am a robot, I have no feelings. I do what I’m told and I’m viewed as a monster back home. I am taunted by whoever and wherever I go cause of who I am but not as what I am.
I am a robot. I am a monster. I am incapable of showing human emotions cause my job doesn’t require it. I am not allow to think or question my superiors. I do what I’m told and give an 113 percent.
I am dead.
I am heartless.
I am a machine with guns strapped to my arms.
I am here to ridden the streets of possible threat to the western democracy idealism.
I am the peacekeeper.
This is what I tell myself over and over as I stare at the inhumanity plague caused by my careless retribution. And just thinking about it is making me nauseous and pains me within to bear the haunted retrospective of my mistake.
You’re not sane.
That is what I’m told to believe by the strangers whom I meet at parties and business meetings but who are they to point the finger? They haven’t got a clue of what it’s like to marked for life with the number of the beast on your forehead. Sure, it’s a coincidence when somebody is reported and feared missing and evidences suggested that I’m the perpetrator of the crime. Always a mystery.
I wish I knew what was of me and why I say or think the way I do but I am what I am and that’s a dangerous thought, even for the most intellectual of any kind that bear to mind the riveted psychopath killer that has no memory of any wrong doing or so to speak.
I am not well. And I am not stable. I have the tendency to swarm recklessly and emotionally without advancement warning just to say that you weren’t warned.
I am not hopeless. But there isn’t a cure known to retaliate my mental disease.
I am not a monster and I wish everybody would quit staring at me as if I were one. I just made some mistake in my life that has infected everybody in a 3000 miles diameter of me.
The lust for cold blood being spilled on the bedroom walls...the ecstacy that’s all the rage of feeling immortal...the thirst for power that griped the soul and mind and enable the control of sanity.
I wasn’t always like this. I too came from a family of loving values and morals but it was just that that has made the monkey grew curiosity and hung itself on the doorknob naked coked out of mind. It was being tired of feeling nothing and knowing all too much that gave me get cheap thrills by injecting myself with horror and impotent. I didn’t want to live but I knew I was incapable of pulling off a suicidal mission. So instead I would kill myself with pleasures and hope that somebody else would delete me from their file.
I am, after all, a robot. No heart to judge a man feelings and no brain to think from right or wrong, just a walking mechanical genius with no soul to show for. Yet, I still bleed the same color of blood as of you. Strange, perhaps? Maybe not when compared to the on slaughter of thousands in Iraq. People being killed to make way for the western democracy, an US of A idealism. Women being raped ‘cause the soldiers are frustrated and children are being spent as if they were possible threat.
On the TV, I see people being mislead into believing that what we’re doing is justifiable and that we’re helping Iraq build a better future.
In the paper, I read the stories of men being beheaded and how the prisoners at Abu Ghraib were treated.
How can I be the monster of a crime when the US government trained me to be this way. I’m just following protocol. My orders were given and I was smitten to be honor such a request from higher commands.
Being on the field with my brothers in arm searching for peace in a chaotic state of mind. Drenching in the heat with 50 pounds of armor and utility as we roam across the stench desert of lost souls. This isn’t what I thought would become of my enlisting years ago. I wanted to see the 7 seas and continents, little would expect of the tragedy of 9-11 and at the time, I thought what I was doing was right. To avenge for my fallen comrades.
I too rode the streets with American flags on the radio antenna and littered the lawn with desperation of a tearful joy.
And I too stood by our President.
Now it’s too late to take back the ugliness of our presence for as of we becoming the face of our hidden enemies. I wish there was a way to express the sorrow and guilt I have as I gun down innocent civilian but I am a robot, I have no feelings. I do what I’m told and I’m viewed as a monster back home. I am taunted by whoever and wherever I go cause of who I am but not as what I am.
I am a robot. I am a monster. I am incapable of showing human emotions cause my job doesn’t require it. I am not allow to think or question my superiors. I do what I’m told and give an 113 percent.
I am dead.
I am heartless.
I am a machine with guns strapped to my arms.
I am here to ridden the streets of possible threat to the western democracy idealism.
I am the peacekeeper.