Deep in the forest of my mind, burns a fire of inspiration
The fire is always burning, but it never spreads, I can never find an outlet for the flames
The fire is fueled constantly by the ever-changing aspects of life, but never dies, nor does it grow
The fire is fed by a tall slender man, with dark, sullen eyesockets... his hands weary with time
His face is constantly in the shadows of his black hood, which looms just above his eyes
Upon his chest is the charred remains of what is now a blackened heart
Forever in his hands rests a switchblade knife, for the man trusts no one, not even himself
He stares into the flames of eternity for a long while
He sees images of death, life, blood, hate, sex, darkness, light, dreams,
They flash in his eyes as he turns his head to look into the fog surrounding him and the flames...
He writes:
"The fog swirls around me like a cloak of darkness, leaving a clear, narrow path in front of me, as it parted like the Red Sea. The voices on either side of me whispered my name.
All is darkness, save the moon above me and the eerily lit mist I was slowly walking between. I continued on through the misty 'tunnel' towards I knew not what. The voices around me grew louder as I continued on.
My heart beat pounds in my ears.
Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump.
Suddenly a huge gust of wind blows down the path, dissapating the mist, revealing the thousands of corpses piled on either side. The voices continue, seemingly from within the piles of bodies. The dark clouds overtake the moon, and the voices stop as all light dies..."
He looks to the sky, then bows his head...