If I'd see myself walking on the street, I'd beat him to death.
I'll punch him in the gut for being lame, weak and a coward. A pair of slaps and punches on the cheeks for continuously breaking the grounds of societal norms and taboos by being a subject of immorality. A punch in the mouth and I'll make sure it'll bleed. That's for misusing it and making it the filthiest portal of his body where curses and destructive words are mainstays. I'll break his legs and sprain his feet for chasing the wrong things and the wrong people. I'll make him bleed to death. I'll make him suffer. I'll make sure that he'll remember every pain on every strike I make. I won't stop till he beg for me to stop. Till I saw an ounce of humanity coming from his eyes. Until he's on the ground feeling the agony and the pain. I want him to remember what pain feels like. For he always chose to be numb than to admit that he's hurt. I want him to beg.
Once he did, I'll carry him. Clean his wounds. Stop his bleeding. I'll take care of him. I'll let him rest on my shoulders. Because I know that he's already tired. I'll hug him. Because he needs some. I'll let him cry on me. Just this time. To have a clearer view of things that boggle him Without me asking. Because I understand. I'll sing him to sleep.
And I'll promise that tomorrow would be better for the both of us. I believe.Labels: heart, life, self