Mothers Cellar

     In a sleepless rage I cast a mere image in my mind of myself of whom I was. A artist of meat carving and permenant scares that I cast on my own. Prone in darkness in fear of fear that I cannot articulate the feeling. I dance in craze of my victims that I share there souls with my personal demons which fuel my inner pain. with blood drip from my tools of salvage I smile, i smile for my work that I put on mankind for turning there back on me. A freak, some kind of comedy reel which they point and laugh of me being unique. For the world being my victim I shall not rest until laughter is erased from the earth. And for every man, woman, and child will be nothing but a blade sharpener!

    For who am I to trade pain for death in exchange for life? I am wrong for my choice of career? In the begining was it fair for me to get the curse of Egor? Was it fair to be a choice of humor, until I pick up a knife to cut food which they all stare. Until I stick it in there gut they stare harder! But who am I to b violent? Me being this way is simple reaction to an action that they(society) choose to create. I crawl in the pit for what I have done or my planes for each one that I have locked away in mothers cellar.

 

Author's Note

little intro the main character of a story that i writing on the side. I hope you like