I toy with thoughts and twist them into tales of slaughter; I see the presence of the countless I have tortured and murdered in my mind. Do I leave these unfortunate souls with no escape? I wonder. Do I sentence them to die and become one with nature or are they left animate corpses that never get the chance of rebirth? I desire to be set free into nature but I do not allow it for my victims. I cannot erase their tormented faces from my mind. They haunt me unbearably. How do I set them free? Do I settle them with the pen that marked their end or let them writhe and suffer through the end of time? There are always more questions in the way of life than I can guess an answer. Their lives were simple before I snatched them forth from the craters of my imagination. Will they forgive me for uprooting them from where they lived, loved and prospered? Do they suffer their wounds and bloodletting for eternity? I dare say, “I hope so,” even though it is a crass and uncaring thing to not allow them back into the soil that brought them forth.
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