Look how they act; and look what they do. Like rats in a maze , ant’s behind glass. What would happen if I raised my lens; and poured acid on their skin while they bled to death. What if I tossed around the turtle on a beach to watch him struggle? Like watching paint dry on a wall or smell glue; small talk so inane, insatiable, swirling brass, even though I know sometimes I can be a ass. What is so desirable in chosen ones, yet they’re the stand-up puns where you hear no sound? Or is it just like a hoarcrux to a muggle? Am I nauseous, nervous, over-whelmed with anxiety or do I want to feast on the fears of my victims and laugh at their pain. The doctor gave up his office last time I visited for my cat scan and my blood vessel in my brain was gone! He misdiagnosed me anyway saying I was crazy when reality I was a genius, at least he never wanted to admit it. He had a lot of animosity towards me than he did his other patients, at least that’s what it felt like. I’m relieved and excited he left his job as a doctor, because if he stayed, I might of killed him slowly while peeling his flesh from his skin while reading out medical procedures to him while having him drugged up like he did to me. Good riddance, never liked his taunt: judging my nature with stamped ogle. What should I wear? I got no clue; I got nifty shades of hatred in my heart with zero tolerance for love. After everything is wrapped up, the job is done. The poor doctor and his friends are still sour like a vengeful spirit’s emotions are in a haunted house. Should I stalk some books and gobble? What would happen if I cut food from it’s source and not taste? Letting it rot away to behold like a drone; how the flies gnaw away. Hosting like a gaunt to add to the deceit with eased gentle. Some call me a sociopath, but I prefer the term genius, because I am that doctor that I just told you about and these are my thoughts. These of the thoughts and actions of the Crimson Sociopath.
Music By: Lucas King