I see you watching me, with one hand shoved into your jacket. I do not know if you have your greasy, sinful fingers wrapped around a gun, or a rope, or a needle full of some grim substance. I do not know if it's intended for me or someone else, but seeing as we're alone in a deserted corner of town, I would think that what's on your mind does not concern your parents or a friend or an enemy. I can see the glint in your eye as you check me out, and I know that that glint's for me.

But I will share with you what I do know.

I know that you do not know who I am. The way you stare and lick your lips tells me that. If you knew who I was, you'd be running home with your tail between your legs, whimpering and crying because you dared to offend ME.

What else do I know?

This. And That. I know everything about you that you don't know about yourself. No, I can't read your mind, but I can read your actions and your glances and your species. Let me tell you about yourself.

You will never know the taste of a beating human heart, still gushing blood into the dead air. You will never experience the feeling of that same heart, pulsing feebly and habitually in your bare hand. No, not you.

You have never been crushed to near death by unseen forces, forces which weigh on your soul instead of your body. You have never been driven to the edge of insanity by the voices and pressure of a thousand demons, all striving to give the final shove. No, not you.

I can see that you've cried, but you've never wept. You can cry in a tantrum, you can cry at a movie, you can cry in pain. Weeping takes morality and love, and of that, you have none. You weep for the lost and the dead, the long-buried, and for the dying you never knew. You cry for a candy, and you cry when you stub your toe. You have not known true misery.

You will never know the presence of the Gods, you will never peer up at the stars and galaxies and wonder at the creation. No will you look to the voids of space and the darkness that surrounds those stars, and think of all the terrible wrongness of it all.

If it is a gun you carry, You are a coward. You choose to kill from afar, and you fear to see a shimmer of recognition and accusation in your victim's face. You may even shoot from behind, so that glare of hate and surprise will not even touch their cold, dead face. You can then be free to loot in their pockets and remove their clothing, and sell it all for a quick burst of euphoria; artificial happiness that is slowly eating you from the inside to the out. You are worse than the maggots that cling to your hair, you are lower than the teeming bacteria that have made a home around your open wounds. Wounds you would have gotten when you were thrown into a fight with someone who has much more courage than YOU do.

A rope, A rope. The sinful ropes that tether and bind the innocent victims. If that is so, then you are a maggot of the earth, one who succumbs to the evils and temptations of the flesh, digging deeper into an underworld of perverse desires and unthinkable acts. If that is so, you deserve a fate worse than death, a punishment that lasts longer than eternity. You shall burn and freeze in the depths of Hell, you will be torn to bits and sewn crudely and painfully back into some from of working order, and then you will be ripped open again. You will be cursed with disease and sickness, which will reduce you to a state on the edge of death… but the salvation of rest and darkness will never come. NEVER. Eternity is a long term, and you will exchange it for some few hours of pleasures? If that is the truth, than you are an idiot of the fatal kind.

And the needle. If that is so, you are on some twisted journey of your god, entrusted with the task of converting the innocent and the happy to your unspeakable religion. You seek to spread the misery of your own life, one that you yourself have filled with hate and guilt and fear. You are your own hangman, and yet, you are a hangman for your god too. You are both the judge and the jury, and a sick and evil court you hold. You are much worse than the Gunman, and yet a smidgen better than the Maggot. You, my friend, will rot for your choices, and the substance within your needle will be the catalyst.

I know what you are, and I know what you do. You have no clue who I am, but I'm watching you.

Your mind will fall to broken pieces on the floor before your time is done. You will be left an empty carcass, one that continues to live without a mind to lead it. You are as a cockroach, who is inches from losing it's head. You will continue on for the sake of existence, but your head will be gone long before you die of starvation.

You, who will never feel an embrace of a woman or the soft crying of a baby in the middle of the night. You, who has lived a half-life of addiction and fear. You, who will perish in the night, will be forgotten by the world. You will never make a newspaper headline. You will never leave a mark on the history of the universe.

You will never be honoured.

You will die alone.

You have never known love for something,

You have never seen the light.

You have forgotten the faces of the ones who made you.

You will beg for your life, beg to be released from the depth of agony and the grasp of eternity.

You have never experienced the simple joy of life, you have always wished for there to be more, and you have forced your mind to bend and produce more – even if it lasts only some short hours.

You have lead a life of sin, and now you must pay your dues.

You are going to die by my hand, tonight.