The sacrifice

Appearance brings back the memories of past activities, futilities over and done, confirmed death by the sickness god that help me start this damn genocide that has made a revolution among humanity. Unstable minds, creative thoughts that come and run, black out and your memory is just another fragment of a dream, a dream you wish that it was true. And your screams become music to my hears, your weakness and your blood become my strength, my power, my will to survive and your voice of reason. And forgotten saints and angels fall from then sky into Hell. The sacrifice of the useless and weak.
You look torn and weak in that pit that you fell into. My friend, my sanity, you've fallen with the disease and you look at me with eyes of pity, the eyes that you always have when I'm down, when I'm with sorrow. And even in your time of death, I'm your concern, I'm the one that you're focused on. It's guilt. It's guilt that I'm wearing, not this black pane that makes me the god of death, the supreme lord of your life's. Because I've killed myself when I saw you, my friend, in that hole like a rotten animal, used object. And it's all in the sacrifice of yourself to me, you blood becomes my curse.