The Man with the Crooked Face

Children scream, run away, at the sight of me.
Who can blame them. I am hideous in the light.
I mostly go out when it's night.
Darkness is my mistress.
She's blind I'm sure
which is why she's the only one
who will have me.
Even the older ones are wary of me.
Sympathy or fear -- I wear it like a stain.
Many just cross the street to avoid passing me by.
That's okay with me.
My thoughts do the very same thing.
I've considered turning into
the very thing I appear to be.
I stare in a mirror from time to time.
"Monster" is the first word
that drops from my lips
like a bucket down an ice-cold well.
Surely, a beast would be an improvement
over a recluse, hunting human prey
more fulfilling than holed up in a hovel,
collecting government checks.
There's a woman, alone and unsuspecting.
Why don't I wrap a twisted arm around her mouth,
drag her into an alley,
break her neck with my strong hands?
Throughout the city,
in all the fortresses of family, humanity,
the world is waiting to hear my answer.