Thursday, August 28, 2003

That Sharp Pain

Hair like the sleek, dark lining in the shadows of dusk.
His glowing emerald eyes set my entrails ablaze.
With a sinister smile, he forms a thousand phrases set to unravel me.
His hands like knives, bit-by-bit, butchering my insides.
Behold the heart of ingot iron...so cold...so much like my own.
Beneath the gorgeous mask, lies death's horrendous face.
Remorseless, ruthless, repulsive...empathy and purity omitted.
For his soul, stolen and sold, ages beyond years ago.
A malicious, manipulative mastermind loiters about.
Repress, depress, regress...consistently battling the man within.
He is my vigor...my hatred...my disgust...my rage.
He breathes the very air I draw in.
Mauling my lungs...gnawing away at each viscera.
Do not taunt him, nor tempt him.
Do not set him free from the cages of my rib. 

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