Thoughts of a Disturbed Boy

It started as a cute little high school thing.
Then elevated into a angst ridden sting

How am I to control this madness?
This feeling of hate and ultimately sadness

A razor; a piece of metal of mediocre size,
Or an implement of my impending demise?

Will the Lord shine his rays upon me?
And give me direction that I most certainly need

Who am I to question the work of "God"?
I am Humanity and I will take everything from that sod.

There will be no mercy on my heretic quest.
Why should I give mercy when he thinks he is the best?

God should burn in the flames my Lord must endure.
Why punish us when you know that we are pure?