Torn

I took a blade
And hacked the logs
I took a dagger
And sliced the meet into pieces

I took the hammer
And knocked it to the wall
I took a scissors
And sever the paper

I took the live of an innocent people

And feel proud of it
I killed bears and tigers in the forest
And took all of their skins

I’ve stolen a heart of a lady
Then suddenly vanished to nowhere
And still smile at her

Is this what we label as a murderer?
Or else, a tiny part of the scrap
Or only the sense of it