Humans believe they are special.

Because they have names, languages, and emotions, they think they are superior to other forms of life.

But in my eyes, it is different.

Humans are merely creatures that have assigned too much meaning to themselves.

They stick labels on their shells, paint over them with words like 'beautiful,' and constantly shout about how precious they are.

But in the end, only one thing remains.

A living body. Warm body temperature. Breath. And things that change as time passes.

Every time I look at a human, I have strange thoughts.

How many lies are contained within them? How much desire is mixed in? How much regret and fear are intertwined?

Humans pretend to be clean on the outside, but their insides are always a tangled mess.

Like a piece of old meat.

The exterior still maintains its shape, but if you get close, there are traces that cannot be hidden.

They call me a monster.

But that word feels strange to me. The word 'monster' contains emotion.

Anger. Fear. Disgust.

But to me, humans do not evoke such emotions. It is simply because I feel no meaning in them.

I just exist.

And to me, humans are just over-idealized

slabs of raw meat.

All of this is especially well-projected onto the human called 'you.'

He elegantly cuts a piece of tough, bloody raw meat on his flat, clean white plate with a knife, speaking calmly with a blank expression.

I might chop you into pieces and eat you tonight.