What really makes a Monster?
Is it their actions that make them so dangerous?
Is it their intent?
Or is it just who they are?
It must be just who they are
That's the only way
They keep staring
As though they're my prey
Am I really such a wretched beast?
What have I done?
Why am I the bad one
Is honesty bad?
Am I not being honest?
Am I delusional?
Am I trapped in my own mind?
I don't know what to do
What do I say?
Why can't they just go away
I don't know what I did,
Yet they are still in dismay.
Maybe I was meant to be this way.
Maybe a monster is what I was meant to be
Terrifying by birth
Wretched and lonely
Maybe I'm a monster by design
By the subconscious of my mind
Maybe I'm a monster
Of which I've been made
From the spite I've received for being this way.
By design or by birth
Demonized all the same
Because in the end I'm still all to blame.