Ares, for what are you but a former shell?
Ares, for what is that blight you wish to quench?
for when you wash away everything, war raging,
everything-eating,
do you find yourself feeling the weight
of the world in your own hands?
The way the blood seeps through your fingers
The index, the middle, the ring, the palm,
gripped tightly on your spear
Twisting into the red viscera of which you seek
Clotted ribbons in which they fall, stomach now bare
The way it crunches, violated and gutted
Do you find yourself similar to the war you experience
For your mind fights against you similar?
Battles concluding in choked sobs, weapons falling
I find myself similar to you,
unwavering, unmoving, unable to sympathise,
for you are the only God I require.
Socialization among those similar to me is rather futile,
so when the war within my own head rages,
this letter found in greatness,
I carve my own spear into those who wrong me
Inspired by the likes of your bloodshed, utterly divine
Destroy everything in my path
Take action, press forward.
For what comes of me is a showcase of my isolation, my abandonment
So I hold onto you, impale myself with my very own spear,
The smell of crimson, it seeping down my very own hands
I have nothing left but my very own plan,
for what I will have is my first very own friend,
I wonder if it will be you, my very own Godsend.