I saw the disaster coming months before it arrived, there are always warning signs and tells. When it finally appeared, I was not shocked because I have grown oddly accustomed to my private hells. People belittle honesty especially the darker kind, yet they complain about the lack of truthful men and say they are hard to find. It is often feast or famine when the goods and bad prevail, if there were some consistency weak men might not fail. I blind myself to simple truths and confess to spare my life, torture does not strike my fancy and I despise the dulling knife. Majestic and flirtatious, ironically sharpened on a stone and yet so quickly loses its edge when in contact with bone. A puzzle master scarce could say this intricate maze confounds while dissecting small and large intestines amid the gurgling sounds. Always the pretty ones who cry the most when dancing with the blade, how quickly all the masks come off and end the great charade. I am confident my artwork is my masterpiece, the very thing I loathe the most the ostentatious centerpiece. Rejection used to haunt me and it ruled my pathetic ways, until I found new ways to tame it, which my artwork now displays. I am certain they will hunt me down and discover my bad deeds, but I will strive to grow my collection and plant my demon seeds. I worry more about the lives I have taken than the one I have left to lose, because it would all be for naught if they walk not in my shoes. ~ Pariah © MJB.JR
Posted on: Sun, 16 Mar 2014 18:23:37 +0000