NEWS FROM THE WHITE ROOM
11.09.2003
Deep beneath the suface, hate.
Fight the truest habit back.
Thrust until the pain is vice,
Bear it so the blood runs black.
Face the horror of the truth,
Please the fair until they swoon.
Twist the just to misery,
Light the pyre and cry the moon.
Wake again the second day,
Cry the silent, screaming cries.
Pay the mortal price in breath,
Brother burns, but Sister dies.
Do then this most hateful deed;
Bow my head and show my neck.
Remember though: i conquered Death,
and He who follows might be next.
"So what you're saying is that i write poetry because underneath my mean, callous, heartless exterior, i really just want to be loved," He said. He paused, "Is that right?"
The other laughed a nervous laugh. "Well, i mean, yes," He said, "don't we all, deep down, you know... er..."
The first stood up.
"No, well, you're completely wrong," he said, "i just write poetry to throw my mean, callous, heartless exterior into sharp relief. i'm going to kill you anyway. Guard! Take the prisoner down to number three and kill him."
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