Still don't you see?

We file in. We smile at each other, raise eyebrows, clap shoulders.
I can smell the copper in their blood.
These men might know my deeds, but they do not know my face. They think i am a madman, that i pounce from the darkness like some horror movie villain. They will read about the things i have done, at their breakfast tables, in the food courts, and they will shake their heads and ask why.
Could it be that they know why?
If one were to peep back the phyllo layers of wickedness and pain and cruelty, could it be that these men might do the same if they had the chance?Might they wield their knives and pistols and bludgeons and finally utter their rage? Might they spend the currency of their wrath and then scurry off to Upper Darby and New Hope and Upper Marion and the safety of their lives?

There is always a morbid contest in the soul, a struggle between the loathing and the need, between the darkness and the light. The bell rings We rise from our stools. We meet in the center.
Such pain in the eyes of the fallen one, yet you do nothing. You see the pain and yet you do nothing.
You are not here because you know that. You are here because you do not have the courage to be me. You are here because you are afraid of becoming me.

I know why I am here...