"O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!"
The Hermit cross'd his brow.
"Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say—
What manner of man art thou?"

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd
With a woful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.

Monday, October 03, 2005

asylum's keep

my soul is dark...
yet my words even darker...
i once swayed into the blackest of pits...
and now, my feet lead me there ever so knowingly again...
spare me from this pain, only to be tormented eternally...
oh, happy dagger let me know the meaning of serenity...
i have thrown away all reason and sense, nonchalantly...
for the gathering storm i now shall face, only miracles can help me...
i am sorry mother, i am sorry father, your expectations i have not met...
this is for all the sins-past, and all the sins-present, and for all the things you both don't know yet.

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