I’ve felt for a while now that if just a few things had gone differently for me, I might’ve grown up to be a sociopath.
Don’t believe me? Read my fiction someday [whenever I actually finish and publish some], or even take a glance at a few of my published poems.
This feeling, this suspicion… It’s why so many of my main characters embody sociopathic traits alongside a downtrodden, but at least somewhat decent, heart. In that way, they’re really alternate versions of myself. I use them to take on experiences I’ve never had, and to see how my life might’ve played out had I completely lost touch with my conscience.
Fortunately, I didn’t.