This topic contains 0 replies, has 1 voice, and was last updated by Allen Sale 7 years, 3 months ago.
I made the following two years ago and presented it to Scott. See if you can tell why he liked it. It’s a shame this didn’t make it into the print version; maybe something found in the future?
Frustration mixed with confusionMakes everything seem so unclear.
Raging hatred wells up insideAnd was spawned from all my fears.
I must be the paragon;The wielder of self-control and power.
Alone, I sit in front of my deskInside my glass tower.
"Think . . . think . . . think!"I must relax and clear my head.
The fog, oh the fogThat makes me see in red!
Where is it,That bless’d bladeWhich is my only friend?
Come nigh unto me,Hear my anguished cries,And make this torment end!
That biting edge,That sweet sensationOf the creation of a new wound;The pecefulness,The heartfelt bliss,And knowing that it will be over soon.
"Deeper . . . deeper . . .Must go even deeper!"No more, Foolish Fog, shall I be haunted.
The mist subsidesAs blood oozes from my thigh."Oh God," how I have wanted this!
"Thank you . . .Thank you . . .Thank you!"
All is well.I am in control.I know what needs to be done.
I place my knifeWithin its sheath;The victory is won.
"Thank you . . .Thank you . . .Thank you."
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