I am fatal yet have less to do with fate.

I am poignant yet only to those who care.

I am deranged yet less to do with ranges.

I am a mess yet will not clean up for days.

I am bloodshed yet less to do with sheds.

I am amoral yet my executor cares not.

I am compassionless yet indeed less of it.

I am debilitating yet only to the living.

I am land measurement yet I am en mass.

I am an impassioned display yet less good.

I am in rhyme with brassica yet I end life.

I am part of murder mass a cretin attends.

WHAT AM I?

Last edition’s Fustigator: Absence