(Sonnet 8) I like fights and war I like sorrow and empty solace, I like, yes I like the sound of a lass in labor In that unbearable pain that I, I only have caused. I like the sound of spitting guns, Maybe more the sound of crackling breaking necks, Broken in bits by unforgiving hands, I like the sound of death, Death of a love lost Buried in an incurable African disease. I like inflicting pain.. watching, death grab her by the throat I like fighting… War, Hunger and famine But, just, just as long as the cause is worth it. From my book excerpt...