
V. A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it.
I have many purposes, but I am not meant to be a destroyer.
How can something so repulsive feel so natural,
Exciting, meaningful, and enticing?
When I feel alone, I want to hurt what cannot defend,
I want to consume everything inedible, I want to be
Everything; I cannot be a destroroyer.
I no longer believe in right or wrong, natural or unnatural,
Nature or nurture, love or hate, law or life:
I simply exist to be who I can manage to be,
The way a lion kills her own cubs, the bud that never bloomed,
The rock that never felt the sea, the fly who had no purpose other than death.
I live to breathe. I grow to die. I hurt to weep and to never forgive.
Still, I am a destroyer, because there is a part of me that I want to die.
And there is a part of death, the mere thought, that makes me feel alive.


