My image was formed of rope and lace,
whilst bound I cut swaths across my fabric face.
I wanted to see what was inside.
But I?m not the sort to bust down doors; or pick locks
with the butt of a dagger I keep in my robes.
And you?d know that if you poked holes like I do.

I cut through the threads to see your composition.
How your flesh make bridges and how your essence combines with your skin.
I want to see within you...I have seen within you.
To tear my way through and leave my mark upon you.
Jagged lines that make your Comrades frown and apologize.

I am the first one in and the last one out,
My exit wound is a scar between your shoulder blades.
I want to destroy you.
I want your parents to not recognize you.
I want your memory to be hushed as your friends pass in a circle.
They?re not sad they?re just disappointed in you.

No, you?re not the first. Call me manic
The incision is small but a keyhole can reveal a whole room if you?re pressed close enough.
And I?m close as it gets.
I can hear your lungs and the air inside
I?d like to drain you like a pincushion with too many pins.
I want to engulf you.

I would swallow you with the flame of myself,
Eat the coal that remains to soak out the toxins.
I don?t want to be sick.
But you didn?t see this.
You didn?t read the signs.
I laughed at inopportune times
and you attributed that to my character and sighed.


But I suppose it?s hard to see past the spotlight when you?re on stage.
I don?t call this rage. I call this a lesson.
A gut shot that you?ll survive but will never forget the sound of.
I gave you fair warning.
Your day will come my dear Syssin.
For I am freed of your prison, and I walk amongst you hidden.

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 17th of Variach, in the year 455 MA.