As of late many of my feelings were far too dark to share with others,
rape murder and sexual sin, dominating half my day, often more.
Typically, I write of that in my life, usually everything is based upon experience or desire,
lately I’ve been writing about a serial killer, in vivid detail.
The more I write about him and his excessively perverse and sick fetishes,
the more I begin to know him, as though there’s understanding in why he does this for pleasure.
In all honesty, my writings are only that, writings,
I know not where the thoughts are born, something tells me I don’t rightly want to know.
Since the dawn of this new millennium, I have composed my greatest pieces yet,
on average about five each day, maintaining a balance of love and darkness,
one must keep these equal.
I can only hope that in my thoughts things stay level, if the darkness should rule me,
well read my writings, it’s scary, I manage to disgust myself at times, that’s very hard to do.
I will enjoy it while it lasts, raping the darkness, defiling it in use of light,
by darkness I have found ways of capturing love and joy.
Don’t take any of this the wrong way, I’m happy now,
feeling my best in some four years now, the better it gets,
the more I want to enjoy it, as of late.
