dumb, wordless confession...

I have done something terrible. Yet I'm not ready to confess.
I have done something terrible, far beyond the ordinary. I planed it meticulously. I calculated it to the point of no admissible mistake. I though it with no errors. And I executed it to perfection. Everything have been planed. Every little and possible detail calculated with all its imaginable variants. Timing was perfect, flawless. Like the perfect crime. A clean, precise cut. No witnesses. Only me. Only the victim. Thè Ärchytèct ôf Käôz, they call me. Those who have suffered by my hand or my actions. Like the architect, I plan. Like the architect, I calculate, and get plans into actions. Actions done to perfection, always with the minimum mistake as goal.
Thè Ärchytèct ôf Käôz, they call me. The name fits me well. It suits me too well.
I have done something terrible, and I did it totally conscientious of the hows, the whats, and the consequences. Causality. I was looking after them.
Cause and consequence. I did it entirely willingly. I'm a monster. Yet it is not the worst I have done. And I know I can do much more. For I am a monstrous being. Yet I don't feel bad nor guilty. I am telling for I wanted to, not because I needed to confess.
I am a monstrous being.
I have done something terrible. Willingly. Yet I'm not ready to confess. And I may never want to...I am a monster...