Destroying Something Beautiful

Watching people beat the shit out of each other excites me.

A high better than drugs
[and that means something, from me]
comes from the adrenaline
  - the pure undirected anger
    - the loss of self and purpose
that accompanies acts of
purposeless satisfaction.


I stood in the mirror
and picked myself apart,
piece by piece.
Inspired by a movie,
driven by jealously and envy,
I pulled out my emotional scalpel
and cut bits of flesh from my
face,
stomach,
arms,
legs.
Bloody, mangled,
completely deranged,
I turned to myself
  - smiling through a sea of blood and sweat
    - a cigarette in one hand, a drink in the other
and a string of words, spoken by someone whose voice I did not recognize,
materialized in my throat:
"I felt like destroying something beautiful."

How true.