A vague memory from an unpleasant dream,

I woke up trembling with fears that should not be my own. Not a sparkle, not a hope but an irrational fear that such thoughts may cross your mind and such bloodshed may cross my soul.
For I no longer wish for what I had, and never lost. I went out a winner. But the doubt of dishonesty still haunts me at night. When I see no words being crossed for reasons unknown to me. Why do I still ponder on this?
It's like reviving the most dreadful memories all coming back. But I'm not afraid to loose you anymore, I'm not afraid of speaking for my own word. And so another horror proceeds, whereas I am no longer me.
I lost my consciousness to anger, to angst. I lost it all and I lost myself.
But I am pleased. There's a effect where madness is incredibly smoothing, where I am no longer responsible because you pushed it too far, where I can finally express all the frustration, all the dread. And I am nothing but a violent engine with passion for power.
I threaten every life within my range. And so I am born a threat to mankind, a dominant brute with nothing to loose. And I am pleased.
I make my leave knowing that no one will cross my path, that nothing withstands between me and the world, because I just proved, not to you, to myself, that I'm not afraid to die, or to kill. And you all would fear me.
Respect from fear is an astonishingly seductive thing. It's hard to resist such temptation, I won't back up. That is existing.

And so I wake up. A vague memory from an unpleasant dream. Trembling with fears that should not be my own. But that are me.
And what scares me the most... is that:  I still feel the satisfaction for such ruthless acts.

Is this just an excuse for bloodlust?
 who am I at all...