It's never about the dead, always about the kill, always about the hunter, always about the murderer, and yet people seem so dumbfounded when you let pessimism run in your veins like old confetti particles on the overpriced birthday cake of a first born, how many times have we even opened our eyes to look at the gnawed insides of the charred skin of the victim, do we know the killed deserve more attention, or are we so busy glorifying the monsters of this world that justice is only an alien concept to our paparazzi soaked eyes, how is it that screams of pain die down faster than the roar of victory that plunges into the hearts of humanity like an infected sword, we only care about how it's done, do we secretly enjoy it? The fact that it wasn't us? The fact that it could be us? The killer or the victim, either one.