The Monster They Created (Part 2)

It’s been six years in this cold place.

The place for the criminally insane.

The strange man said I will stop liking death.

So I have, or so they think.

They walk me down the corridor,

open a door.

There stood a woman,

she looked like a boar.

I was told she’s my new mother,

I hated her instantly.

How could she act like my new mummy.

“This will not fair well,

you shall all burn in hell”

I whisper to her.

She acted like it didn’t bring her fear,

but I saw it in her eyes.

She was afraid of her own demise.

She took me to her house.

What a beautiful house.

Why should she deserve to live her?

I was forced to live in fear.

Why should she not?

Well, she’s about to learn.

The inside was just as beautiful as the outside.

There were no holes in the floor,

the rats were not scampering across my feet.

I could smell cooking meat.

“Your new father is cooking us lunch.

Then maybe we can sit down later,

and find popcorn to munch.

We will talk about everything that has happened,

maybe even begin to like each other.”

She said this with a smile.

I replied in turn,

“Maybe we can walk a while,

I can show you my new smile tomorrow.

It will be full of joy,

you’re really gonna like it.”

She seemed to brighten,

her step lightened.

We sat at lunch chatting.

Their damn lips flapping.

They wouldn’t shut up,

why?

Were they enjoying my presence?

How could they?

I’m a monster,

forced into existence by my dad.

I’m the worst child

anyone could have.

I killed and maimed,

sliced for a gain.

I enjoyed the thrill.

I enjoyed the kill.

There is no hope left for me.

Right?

We talked for what seemed like hours.

I didn’t open up to them.

How could I?

They would judge me,scream,

and run away.

Especially, when they hear how

my dad used to play.

Of how, I now play.

How could anybody understand me?

Didn’t they know about the body?

The corpse of my father,

or the forever scarred face of that woman.

Did they know anything?

“So, your therapist told us you are a smart boy.

The smartest. Is this true?

Is this really you?

Can you solve equations?

Are books your haven?

Can you read or write?

When trouble comes,

can you make light?

For this is the time we need intelligence.

You can be something.

You can be anything.”

This the man said.

He was correct.

Said I to the man.

“Yes, I can solve any problem,

fix anything.

I read for fun,

equations are simple.

I can pop through a book,

as easily as you pop a pimple.

I am the smartest, this I’ll admit.

Yet I don’t know about being anything.

I just want to live a simple life,

traveling around the world,

cutting through air like a knife.

I will spread my wings and fly.

This is what will happen to I”

This I said with a grin.

Imagining stabbing them,

again and again.

They showed me to my own room.

It was brightly decorated with too much joy,

But not enough gloom.

There were bright reds and yellows.

Teddy bears covered the bed.

This was not the path I planned to tread.

They popped some corn, and played a movie.

It was something goofy, and something groovy.

My disdain for these folk began to waiver.

Maybe they weren’t as bad as I had wagered.

I began to think of all the possibilities.

My I could give them a chance.

All they wanted was a family.

Happiness painted their faces.

Happiness to be with me.

They didn’t try to touch me, nor do me harm.

This I was enjoying, this wasn’t the farm.

Things were going to be better, I could almost reach happiness.

But, what was to come, this I couldn’t see.

If I had known what was going to push me, I would’ve left.

Instead I stayed, I endured the test.