Well this is something that just came to me one day when I was bored off my ass... its a mature topic so if you don't like harshness of killing then you shouldn't read... well enjoy... maybe
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I have been fighting for so long. It seems I have forgotten how to love, forgotten the world around me is lush and green.

No, I'm no samurai, I don't even think I can be called human for the things I have done. I'm a murderer; A person who has taught himself to ignore any human emotion and fill that void with greed for my own life and anger for man kind. My heart as a black hole with the desire to steel the light from others. I have no morals and nor empathy. Everything other than my sword and the blood I have yet to spill is shut out. The happiness of others as well as the bright world around me is nonexistent.

When I was learning how to uses this wretched sword I thought I was doing it to save people, hu; that was just the thoughts of a child's brain an illusion to reality. How can the slaughter of one man save another? Everything is distorted. It makes perfect sense until, you, for the first time let that sharp blade slice through another's flesh experiencing their horrific gags as they grasp to the life you have just so selfishly taken away. It is at that moment when your heart blackens that you see the truth. Your pure heart has been tarnished and one can only crumble beneath its terrors driven to insanity forced to move on. learning to shut everything out to become cold to the things that used to bring you joy, this is how you become strong, and at the same time your week, a shell of a person. happiness is an illusion, love is the devil, and hatred is life.

With my blood stained hands I will carve my way through this world, I will not regret, I will not forget. As long as I keep my sanity I keep my life and my hope that something better lyes ahead for not just me, but every family I have destroyed and ever man I have slaughtered, because in the end, weather we are good, or bad we are all people and we all feel and share the same lust for life. How can one mans death save another is foolish the foolish thinking of a heart unstained by the crimson rain.