I Never Actually Did Ask Myself;- "Why shoot and kill?"

Ok, well, before everyone goes, "ha, he could not kill her... again", I must ... defend myself, a bit, because well, I have been troubled, here, and I am not a person in... tune ... with my emotions, and yet at the present moment I am feeling VERY human, very much the pain in the heart like a lance, and I find that I have found someone that, even if I was extremely provoked, I could never ... kill.
Which begs the question, "why kill anyone, to begin with?"
Lets play the song while I gathermy thoughts, and tell stories, and things I have seen and found out, during the day,and by digging into the past. 
My landlord woke up this other guy I am at the back with, called solomon, a guy who fishes like a drink, two days past -yes, I know, it shouldbe the other way round,but he is more alive in his cups than when sober, and hawking irritatingly like... anyway- and I was asleep, heard the sound, andsurprised myself by going, "kill dem", like a sleep-talker.
And then I came and was ...told... to be compassionate, and blew a fuse,and ran off, and now, I am at times staring out at kalk bay, and no matter how I try to get it up, the rage, to danger levels, I find it all fizzling off.
ok, I have a confession.
I wanted to kill all jamaicans because I made a mistake where it comes to some of their songs, and I was afraid that if and when they do read my posts, they would roll on their backs laughing at me.
i wanted to kill all the xhosas because they are ... depressed.I mean, do you listen to them speak? their words are slow,but thetone, the tone gets to me. I remember when I had a phone before, I did a voicemail recording,and played it back to myself. I had never heard myself talking, and when I did, I wanted to cry. I think most frequently of the similarity between my voice and my father's, if you can de-amplify the incipent misery of MY tone a thousand times where he is concerned,and I used to stare at him when he spoke, soslowly at times,and even in the rare occassions when he cracked a joke and laughed, and I would 'feel' his anguish, an anguish I could not ... reach... because, well, to him, I am ...ME. His son, whom he more than once asked"Uri right right here?" Thats "HER-RAY", not "HEAR", and the statement is shona slang for asking if the guy has a few screws loose, or maybe a whole boxful of them waiting to be picked up from the dusty floor only by using a powerful electromagnet, set to 'satellite-capture' level.
When I heard MY voice,it was worse than his.
profound misery.
yet, funny enough, all other people seem to hear is the rage.
Since that is what they react to. 
But my reaction to having any kind of ... responsibility... laid on me  should also be ... studied... in detail.
I mean, Ido not even LIFT heavy weights at all, even when I, likeI have taken up nowadays in the morning use bricks as dumbbells to boost my muscles as I simulate combat situations. And even to myself, my own fighting speed, unless performing roundhouse kicks, where my momentum,not my...intent, comes into the fore, well, is dismal.
I seem to fight MYSELF just to be able to... move. I said my back is on fire, and that is the truth. Imagine a frame that is hollow and covered by skin, or better yet, let me  tell you what happened at one time. I need a song

 Ok, I had a single bed growing up, see,and it had springs,and then, they got worn. My father, thoughtfully tied up the springs with wire, and the result a cross between the legendary rattler and... the floor. the bed had to go. When he left the army, for reasons of his own, my father -maybe to stake his claim as the one whoshould inherit the communal home, since it was mooted that the youngest son would inherit when my grandfather died-  put most of his furniture in a brand new custom built house right in his father's yard, and well, I thought, young as I was, that that was a bit cheeky, but well, he did,and forgot about it. Maybe he was witingtodivorce my mother and then move into the house when the father died, but well, when he saw my predicament, he was 'lenient' enough- and this was a guy who thought it an honour for his son to bath in the water he had bathed in, and even left me some of his underwear- to have me go get a bed from the rural areas.
Which was full of ticks.
Which I proceeded to try to remove by a very unconventional way.
I decided to burn the suckers. In the house. In my bedroom,anddouse any fire that seemed aboutto engulf the mattress  by the judicious use of a pitcher of water.
Imagine the glow of those silky threadlike embers as they burn,and the heat,but remove the smoke, see?
then that is how I am inside. An inferno. But right there, between my shoulder blades.
fuck, at times I have difficulty even breathing, and I seem to choke.
and well, I know why.
I have SAID why.
i am alive, like something kept alive, but whatever should be THERE to motivate me to .. live. That is NOT there. I am alive when Ishould be dead. And forsome reason, my body protests at that. Because it follows my... mind.
i do not know if that makes sense to anyone. Hell, I ama BLACK man, not some well-off intellectually moulded (whether using ganja or some weird pyscho-babble, the likes these liberal white people get fed on through the use of 'rights') and so, I should NOT even be in this case. It is happening, though.
Now, so what is someone likeme to do?
I mean, what started as justa game to find out what kind of fairy-tale 'world' God seemed to have in store for me, if it was God, (questionable, till I discovered that I was actually being what I said I was) has become something that is not a game anymore,and while Istill do not give much of a hoot about people, I find I can not just indiscriminately kill people because I am afraid of being mocked. I mean, who in his or her right mind would even THINK of messing with me as i grow... angrier? no one, that is why,or maybe, that is what should happen, but it does not.
I mean, Iwill definitely KILL people so that i can access, for example, the NASA secrets so that I can leave the planet, but there is ONE person, no, two, that I will NOT spare.
three guesses?

Its like,well,not rocket science, it should be, "mike and who?", right?
Yeah-ss
the dreadlock rasta guy.
but, mike first.

Last time I saw him, just before I looked at the... apple of MY eye and made the sign of a gun at her...he waited till I came and stood a second time and stared at the woman incredulously - i covered that before in my earlier post about how she wanted to hide behind him and stillinvolve me with her, like even I had tokowtow to him, sothat life could be smoother for her- he made a call to her cell, drove down the one way,and had her give him the keys to something. No surer way of telling ME that, even if he paid lip service to having her shown to me without at males, andallmales being warned off, she was still his.
turf war.
that  the maverick can not stand.
He dies,horibbly,and she too, if she cleaves to him, or anyone else.