I'ts funny isn't it? Those little lines? Those little
borders that define us?
Those fine little borders between love and hate, between art
and pornagraphy, between sex and rape, accident and murder?

This isn't a story about a cold blood murder. This isn't a
story about a calculated hitman who drinks a glass of milk
and then plans his next hit, who plans the way he'd take a
life.
This is a story about a passionate young man, about the way
he walked the on the edge and about that time when it all
slipped out of control.
If you havn't guessed yet, that young man is me, and this is
aobut my rage.
so let us start shall we?

I'v been walking on the edge for some time now, but it
wasn't always this way.
I used to be a nice young boy on his way to be a fine man.
I don't know what went wrong but I do know when it started.
I was walking the edge between childhood and manhood, about
the age they call "teenagers".
Like everyone in that age I began to change. As my body grew
bigger, my emotions grew stronger. I started feeling things
I never felt before; fear, desire, love, but most of all I
started to feel that rage. I was angry at everybody and at
everything. Then I started to cross the line between anger
and hate and that gray line between right and wrong started
to blur.
I hated everything that wasn't like me, I felt the hate burn
me from the inside. I felt like killing, raping and
destroying. I felt like I wanted to destroy everything that
anyone ever loved, I wanted to take a man's hard work and
burn it. I felt like braking every rule ever written just so
whoever wrote it saw how I don't give a shit about it.
My friends didn't like the new me and so, like the
continents of the world, millions of years ago, we started
drifting apart, only that none of us had a statue of liberty
waiting for the needy, the tired and the starving.
I decided that I didn't care, I felt like the whole world
was smaller than me, it's like the whole universe was in the
palm of my hand and I couldlrt it go whenever I wanted.
I walked away from my friends, never looking back, feeling
that they aren't smart enough to understand me, feeling that
I should handell myself, by myself.
I built up my walls and I gaurded them, but with my stupid
arrogance I didn't see that the enemy was inside and I just
locked him in.
And so I was walking the on the edge between sanity and
insanity, like a tight rope walker in the circus, where
every little nudge can drop me to the insanity, descending
rapidly to the wild crazy animals that are me.
So what made me flip?
Love.
Love can open a window in your fort's wall, love can bring
sunshine into your dark room, love can heat up your room
with it's fire, but love can also burn your house down.
My love was never meant to be and I knew it, so I kept it to
myself.
Because my love was so strong I had to cage it. I caged it
with many locks of arrogence and hate and I threw away the
key.
But like any caged bird, eventually my love broke free and
tried to fullfil it's purpouse: To soar high above  and take
me with it.
No luck.
She says no.
It's funny isn't it? That one little word, two letters, how
it can ruin a man's life? How it can freak you out? It sure
fucked me up.
Remember my tight rope? I fell.
I crossed all the lines, I had broken all the rules.
I tower over her and my rage is burning me. I turn into a
furnece of rage, a volcano, waiting to  blow.
She says calm down, it's really not worth it, you know how
sometimes people fall out of love? you'll fall out of me,
you will forget, you have to realize that it's not the end
of the world.
Not the end for me perhaps, but definatlly the end for her.
As she predicted, one of us will fall, but not out of
love...
I started to kiss her, letting my love free, knowing I
shouldn't, but unable to stop myself.
You can call it rape but I swear she cooperated a little,
although I know she really didn't want to.
After I was done, I felt reall low. Lower than myself, lower
than I really was.
She gets herself together and pushed me away. Climbing the
stairs, up and away from me, screaming something about
police, something about rape.
Petrefied as I was I understood my situation and I ran to
the bottom of the stairs.
"Please" I said, "Pleas forgive me. I'm sorry."
She turned around to look at me from the top of the stairs,
looking down on me with the beauty of her tear stained face,
like a bleeding angel.
Her face was a mask of horror and confusion, she didn't know
what to make of my request but I saw hate in them too.
I went down on my knees and looked up at her from the bottom
of the stairs. I knelt there waiting and the stairs between
us like the difference between hell and heaven, she, an
angel in heaven looking down on the demon down at the pits
of hell.
She screamed at me, trying to face me with what I just did,
trying to justify a call to the cops.
I felt the rage in me rise once again, blinding me again,
painting my worl with bright red flames.
I jusmped to my feet and flew up the stairs, like the
legions of hell, storming the gates of heaven, while the
angels stumble to the phone to dial 911.
I grab her before she managed to make the call. She
struggled feircly, the angel trieing to brake free of the
demon's hold, fighting for her freedom.
As expected, the usuall outcome, for evil is always
stronger, the demon wins and the angel is cast down to the
pits of hell.
She crashes to the floor and my rage subsides, leaving me at
the top of the stairs looking down on her twisted body that
is my creation. No heaven, No hell, just me and the crippled
body of the one I once loved.
I reach down to her, try to give her life, but her lifeless
body stays lifeless, and I stay with my crime.

So ladys and gentelmen, I stand here before you in all my
glory. This is all I am, this is what I'm worth, That was my
story.
You look down on me from where you sit, all groom in your
botton down shirts and your expensive dresses, still tasting
todays gorm'e coffee, feeling all high and mighty, feeling
that you are better than me because you have no crime on
shoulders. You are not better than I am. Yes I am a monster,
yes I am a rapist and a murderer. Yes I'm a violator and I
am so guilty it shows, but let me tell you this, respected
men and women of the jury, what happened to me could have
happened to either one of you, and then you'd be sitting
here, standing in my place with the word guilty tatooed to
your forehead, and I'd be sitting where you are, feeling all
high and mighty.
Look at me now and tell me, am I the kind of man that could
kill the one he loves, meaning to do so?
You must ask yourself that as you go in and descide my
sentence.
Don't have any doubt in your mind, I am guilty. I have
killed someone. Someone is dead because of me. I deserve to
be punished.
The guilt is on me and I have died every day since that day
and I will continue to do so till the day I die, it's your
duty to tell me when that day is...
So, ladys and gentelmen of the jury, my life are in your
benevolent hands, do with it as you please...