Genesis

I am a poet darkly, that I might be brighter a man, and bleed from me the pressure that writhes in this damnable skull I am an artist proudly. I paint and carve with words and build from them, and out of this damnably insufficient skull have wrought something, from this chaos, from this pounding, something beautiful, calm, and still. I behold the words spilled before me my guts thrown down , my skull turned out, all the wretched, all the mundane, and the ugly my demons slain before me, as my pen has pierce their hearts and freed mine, that my mind might rest easy. More than that, I am a builder, I create, and derive my value from my works he who makes nothing leaves nothing, he who makes nothing IS nothing. I will not be that man. to see words twist and dance, the archways of metaphors, bridges and spires, gossamer strands of ideas, ornately twined, building images from words, from from thought, ideas bound by chains of ink on a cage of paper. it is as close to god as any man may come to build and to behold, I am a melodramatist I am unskilled I am honest I have an insufficient skull I am, thus a poet.