Behind the locked door

Do you want to see,
What's in a locked room,
Inside my head?

Care for some violence?
Some bloodlust,
with a side of truth?

I shall then open the door,
I locked long ago,
And tell you what's there.

I see endless blood,
Endless gore,
In a forsaken land.

As I investigate,
I find nothing but carcasses and death.
Then a vision of a battle flashes before me.

I see throats slashed,
And hear the gurgles of what would be last words.
I feel warm blood sprayed on my face.

A mans head is nearly blown off.
And the man with the shotgun,
Only smiles and laughs.

Tanks run over people mercilessly,
Women and children shot alike.
Bombs blowing people to smithereens.

Even civilians.
Unarmed and guiltless,
Get stabbed again and again.

An infirmary,
Looks more like a butcher shop.
Filled with blood and entrails.

The wounded,
Only die slower,
More painful deaths.

You can hear the wails of the people,
As they all burn.
No one still stands.

So you wanted to see,
Behind the door.
Well, what do you see?

An endless garden,
Filled of light,
Always with life?

Or what I see?
My inner feral being,
That I burried so long ago.