I've killed many people in my life, all without thinking twice:
A crow as black as it's heart, with a tenancy to steal things that isn't theirs: objects, hearts, souls. I encaged it in chains and left it to starve.
A defenceless little sloth, running aimlessly along the path. No direction, no purpose, so I stamped on it's head and stopped it dead in it's tracks.
All these people I have slaughtered only held one purpose for me. I took their soul and discarded the rest on a pile of other unwanted, unloved, unworthy bodies. Each soul igniting a spark - a fire - creating one being.
A red flame dancing under the star lit sky, filling others with hope, compassion and love. Flaunting it's strength, parading it's confidence and projecting it's warmth onto others. One day I will throw trees on top of her in hope to build and spread the flame higher and wider than any forest inferno anyone has ever witnessed.
I have murdered many people, yet they have all been myself. Picking apart my soul to rip, tear and shred any unfavourable parts which were causing an adverse effect on my being. Now I have found the light, a light glowing so bright I cannot pretend to ignore. A light illuminating a path I am destined to follow. I will probably murder more of myself in my lifetime, but hopefully it becomes a bit more like jenga, and a little less like homicide.
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