The Animal and The Ungrateful

I hold still here, with thy blood upon my hands, 
not heavy in any way about the deed I’ve done. 
My chains drag the ground, the weight of my work
 is around my wrists. Thee blood is filthy,
 wicked sins drip from thee skin.  Baneful to others ,
 so many crawl to thy feet only to meet thy steely blade. 
Wherefor fight thee animal in between the ears but claim it.
 Foe to local populace of my own land, 
I traveleth many lands. I misprise thy perfect life thee has’t madeth.
I wish to have a life so easy yet I run, so far , 
hence nay one could giveth me a shoulder I did needed. 
so wherefore shouldst I try anon? 
in fate, when I am dispatched they shall say
 “Hither lyes a murderers body, so cold and alone” not a flower left for thee.
 Adieu filthy world, may you show nay woe in thy leaving, 
for my type of mind is infestation inside your soul. 
A plague of the life I lead. I wish only to be free, 
much like a wren or more like a blood thirsty bird of prey. 
This world, this universe is not for me. 
I am not of importance
 but the press places me upon their sheets because of the life i liveth.
 Mine own murderous ways art far better than thy filthy pearls 
and rotting furs thee lodging upon thee shoulders. 
I will make them crawl, beg, and plead for the way they cast me into thee shadows,
 for they hunger the materialistic things yet look down on thee ways. 
Soft!  Hark now, dare not look into my eyes 
for you will find that all the judgement you placed on me 
was a reflection of discovery in thy self