Diary Of A Madman

Upon entering the courtroom
he was greeted only by hate
the cold stare of the judge
and a jury that held his fate.
He knew why he was there before
so why now can't he remember?
The judge began to give out dates:
one in May, six in September.
He listed their names
along with a coroner's times
yet these things made no sense to him
just sounded like petty rhymes.

One man in a black suit tried to speak
bringing forth reasons for actions
on the plea of insanity
self-infliction, bruises, fractions.
One man in plain white stood
saying that was but a fake
it couldn't make up for the piles of bodies --
the lives he was willing to take.
One man more shouted
screaming for a short while
and as his face became clear
he had to fight a smile.

His features were so grotesque
his eyes were shot blood-red
memory came fleeting back,
images running through his head.
Faces, terror-stricken and in pain
things he couldn't shun
from his tired, world wearied flesh
the things he needed to be were done.
For those who hurt him
every word he'd dread
and the times they pushed him around
every one of them - dead.
He laughed as he saw their fear
the lives flowing in replay
unknowing they'd die too soon,
or where their bodies would lay.
It was so perfect before that
(the day that went wrong).
How could nobody have known?
Should have seen it all along.
But, it would be over soon --
this hell he had called a life
he had tried to fix the world
and in return lived in strife.
Once the trial was called to end
he watched the faces pass him by
no matter the outcome of this chistian justice
he'd get what he wanted, and he wanted to die.