The Depth Of Madness Few Men Can Find

I often think of setting the world on fire, unleashing my rage, and watching anarchy take its course. These are just thoughts. There is no real desire to become that person again, to burn it all down. Just thoughts.

I'm not angry any longer. Not like I used to be, as a kid. I loved the violence. I still enjoy watching fights, the savage truth of man against man. My fighting days are gone. I've let go of my anger. Still, the rage flares, often I want to set these mother fuckers ablaze again. But I breathe, focus on what matters.

I would rather be left undisturbed, allowed my silence and peace. I am not angry any longer. I am not interested in confrontation.

Don't be misled. I require rigorous preparation to be confronted. Danger is always present. The years of broken hands have calcified my knuckles. The nerves are all dead, I feel no pain. Like cinder blocks, these hands are heavy. There's a depth of madness few men can find. A cruelty that doesn’t distinguish between friend or enemy. A merciless psychopath, lacking empathy or respect. I didn’t just find it. I fucking lived in it. I am a man not to be fucked with. I am best left undisturbed, allowed my silence and peace.

These are just thoughts. There is no real desire to be that person again, to burn it all down. Just thoughts.