"Out, Out! Brief candle! Life is but a walking shadow" - Macbeth
I write poetry for the wicked, the twisted and misunderstood.
The truth, harsh and bloody, expressed in such a delicate and beautiful way.
Such a paradox we live in, constant bending and reforming, to what end? What happiness or sense of accomplishment do we achieve? Only that of the wallowing loneliness in deepest night when none but ourselves can hear us cry.
Come, my children, I welcome you with open arms, and it is here you will find companionship and support, guidance and love if there is no where else you can turn.
Those who wish only illness, Beware! Lay plain ones tongue and riddle me not, for time is tempered and patience, thin.
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