Red bloods tickling down my hands towards the floor. I'm kneeling there, my glares shot straight into the dead white eyeballs in front of me. A smile creeping at my face; a sinister evil smile I never thought I can carve. Sweats finding its way down my face, through the stream of tears. Satisfied, I am.
Realized I can never win ,
Sometimes feel like I have failed ,
Inside where do I begin?
My mind is laughing at me...
Even after days I can't get the smile off me. I feel obliterated, released. I feel the justice has been delivered. What's more gratifying is; it was delivered by my own hands. By my own doing. The bitch deserved that, and more if she's alive by that time I'm done with her.
“So you killed her? A girlfriend?”
More like a wife-to-be exactly.
Shut up you annoying voice. But yes, it was my fiancee. Of course, all people thinks that I'm the bad guy. It must be me who haven't taken care of her enough. It must be me who have the anger problems. It must be me who is responsible for her demise. No one ever cared to listen to me. To my reasoning. To my story.
Tell me, why am I to blame?
Aren't we supposed to be the same?
That's why I will never tame ,
This thing that's burning in me...
“You can tell me man..”
Yeah thanks. I'll still tell you even though you're not listening. As long as you don't speak at all. Don't interrupt me you prick. Seriously, your voice is starting to annoy me.
Anyway, the story is a normal cliche tale that I sometimes felt very ashamed to talk about. You look at a pretty girl, thinking that she's the one, when turned out that she's the biggest liar and manipulator you would have ever known. The catch is, you'll never know up until you got the blow. And I don't mean a blow job at that.
I mean until you got the sting.
“Yeah I got you man. Go on.”
I'm going to ignore your condescending remarks there. Moving on, lets talk about how I was such a dork to fall for that trap. I think it was a surrounding effect that can pressure you into doing something that you actually don't need to. You know how our Malay culture keep on pressurizing young people to get married as soon as possible, right?
“True that. But that apply most to woman, not you bro. Unless you're such a pussy to admit you're a faggot or something.”
Fuck you. I am not gay nor I have a pussy. It was my decision, and at that time I thought that was one hell of a good decision to make. Get married, have some kids, be a family man; laid back and all.
I am the one who chose my path ...
I am the one who couldn't last ...
Yet I decided to do it with a wrong girl. I tried, though. I tried to make it work as much as I can. I support her financially. I give her my time. I call when I can. I repressed my own anger for the sake of the relationship. Even though most of the time she can be a handful. I take it with a pinch of salt. And over time..
I feel the life pulled from me ...
I feel the anger changing me...
You know, I felt it all along. I felt that it is actually not a right decision after we got engaged. But I don't know what's wrong. I don't have any reason to make it wrong. I don't have the reason to break it off. Better yet, I don't have any other girls that can be the reason for me to break up with her.
But it haunted me. Like a splinter at the back of your mind, constantly poking.
Sometimes I can never tell ,
If I got something after me ,
That's why I just beg and plead ,
For this curse to leave me...
Until I've got the sting. Somehow the truth prevailed when I got hold of her phone. Her phone where I gave it to her as a birthday present. Her phone which in the end she used it as a tool to cross me with some other dude I didn't know of. That's when wrath took over. Or Ira, which means anger in Latin. All I can see was red.
You know what's ironic? Her name was Ira, and in the end I was being controlled by Ira. Or anger. Over Ira.
I feel so enslaved,
I really tried ,
And I did my time...
“Aren't we all?”
Aren't we all, what? What do you mean?
“Aren't we all here to do our time? We're in prison, mate. ”
“Yeah, whatever. Thanks for your story though.”
Don't you want to ask how I killed her?
“I can guess. I think you stabbed her to death with a knife. Or a cleaver. Or was it with a parang?”
“No? So what was it then?”
A razor blade come flying under the chin of my cellmates, driven by my swift hands; cutting his throat opens, butchering his neck with a slight slick motion. Bloods come rushing out from his arteries, spraying the white wall of my cell into bright red like a bucket of red paint badly thrown to a wall. Red bloods trickling down my hands towards the floor.
Oh God the anger's changing me ...
Oh God the anger's changing me...
It was with this, you bastard. Didn't I told you that your voice is annoying?
P/s: Lines in italic is actually lyrics taken from the song “Did My Time” by Korn.