While I should have been working…
By Damien Silson
RAZOR
A duty, on the razors edge of murder and tyranny.
Each death concludes an end to a branch of impeding fall.
Leaves tumble down in an unstoppable autumn that is the destiny of our world.
To stare into the broken mirror I see my finale reflection, shattered, with pieces missing, but I am still there.
A duty, it is mine to give and yours to receive, You are my beginning, and I am your end…
STEP
Lonesome winds blew across the beaten track.
Weary to step a stones throw across that grey landscape.
Beamed wide it entered my eyes, the inescapable light, the last of its warmth for an age.
Forward we trek over the fallen whom sleep peacefully under our feet, no king, no lords, for at a finale end , eternal father can embrace us no more.
SOFTLY
Ice, whispering doom, I can hear it.
Single voice above the hymn.
My hand to her lips, her touch to his ears.
“Go, Softly, Release”.
I can see those mountains, long green hills
My last homely home, above the land.
At the end I see my beginning.
“Sweet Manushk, be free of burden”
I feel nothing, step I do into her embrace.
Ice, betrays death, in the many shades of red.
I am dreamt by the dreaming dreamer.
“Manushk, dream no more”.
And I never did again…………
TOMB
The sorry winds of the forgotten phantoms wisp passed the peak.
Single figure of transparent white stands at its top to stare.
Mist of the fallen dead, of horror long passed call longingly across the waves beneath.
From her tomb she walks, so whole in her misery never willingly to depart.
The remains of so many wisp in their last screams of life.
Departure the long departed now sing through the winds of the finale end.
She stands no further then the last step she took before her collapse to the bottom.
In the mirror of her love the horror of her misery reflects in a gruesome face from the vicious and terrible waves beneath.
Solemn, alone, pine for ever sweet child of the waves forever will you come, daughter of the slaughter and of the dark water,
Never shall she pass, for her grief is the chain of her chaste upon this mortal realm….
No dawn of gold, but of blue and black for her eternity shall be.
BOLD SUMMER
Summers dawn springs anew a smell of the burning sun’s lust for the renewal of blood.
Quietly through the cold months do we plan our hatred, nights moon thumps an eternal wish for the maroon to spread down our throats.
Burn our faces with the raise of your hatred, mighty disc of the sky, grow our crops, feed our bellies and prepare us to fill your mighty land with the guts of our enemies.
Peace is for our woman and extermination for our foes, tremble, tremble, tremble, The son shines our hatred across your brow, hide your children kill your stock, for what’s your is mine and what’s mine is my own.
WHO
I suppose on the other hand, it didn’t really matter who she was, for who are any of us. I stared at my partners as they sat by the water with the afternoon sun reflecting gold upon the face of the river.
People come and go like the flow of the tide, even Jared who knew her from his training days never really knew her. We all have pasts we would have liked to forget, but they always have a way of catching up with you.
Time is histories greatest enemy, with the process of time does the old temple fade, when you try and forget your history, the pass of time often brings along the renewal of old foes in new disguises..
In the quiet before the storm I knew very well that we would never see each other again, 3 drawn together by one woman who they had never even met but knew all their lives…..As quickly as we came together, we will depart.
LIGHT OF DAWN
“You can see it can’t you, on the horizon, a silver spiral of eternal light”. Mad, Mad is what he was, brutally and totally mad.
“Shine on me, can you see it Richard, see it a hidden angel, he hides there mind grossed in constant meditation”. A desert that stretched for miles had turned silver in the setting sun, clouds drifted ahead toward the disc as it begins its long journey through the under world, to rise again in the morning.
“See it sift through my hands Richard, the silver light of lost candles, tears and misery he sits, can you see it”. The lanky mad man with hair down to his waist shouted at the horizon, while letting the deserts sand trickle through his fingers.
“Stop looking at me, look”. He screamed, not wanting to delay a possible inevitability that he may turn on me for disobeying I stared toward the light.
“He sits and waits, An angel, Sumerian being of shattered candles, can you see him sitting while he scribbles his madness, see it as the wax of his existence drips upon the unwritten parchment of the future”. The mad one talked to the light.
Staring toward the silver light I had to blink to allow my eyes to adjust, still the mad one jabbered and spat his ranting. Something inside of me began to stir, before I turned I saw it and my mouth opened.
With in the silver light he sat in the distance, a figure of wings stretched out far and wide.
“Dear god”. I whispered under my breathe.
“No god Richard, just, another part of life, there he sits, so I sit here”. Mad I thought, but what was this in the distance. The being of light and broken candles sat with in the setting sun, his head a long furrow of silver hair.
“How long have you been out here”. I asked the madness.
“Years do not count, to stare you shall find eternity”. The mad one said and I felt his hand touch mine.
“Certainly is an experience”. I whispered under my breathe. I took the small razor blade from out of my pocket while keeping my eyes transfixed on the light ahead, an impulse racked through my body.
“Better to give him what he wants”. I said without any thought of impending actions.
“I know ”. Mad one cocked his neck back to reveal his bearded throat.
Turning I applied the razor to his throat and began to saw through his gullet, each spurt of blood felt like a ray of beauty and life it self splashing upon my soul.
“Can’t go to fast my friend, best you feel it”. I said and heard a gurgle of reply from his slashed throat as he fell forward upon my chest.
“Good Tarquin”. I said and cradled the mad man in my arms as his life source spurted with each pump of his heart upon my shirt.
Now I can stare alone at the angel of broken candles and silver light, transfixed I am in a constant stare…..head to toe I am covered in the dark blood of the dead man at my feet.
Reason shouts for me to go, but I ignore reason, what is this, what am I now, what be an Angel. I shall sit here to tell my tale to the next, place the razor in his hand, and die to give my successor his place upon the desert floor to stare at the silver light, of the one who sits within the fading silver light.
RETURN
The summers dawn streaked like a fallen pot of red ink upon the blue horizon.
A wind blew the hair from out of my eyes, a breeze of a time now long forgotten.
I find it hard to remember things any more, to smell the air I feel a tingle of déjà vu.
It was a dream, an unrealistic fantasy that was Britain, now the cross rules and I dream.
The children play in the fields before the work of the day begins, I envy that moment.
Children grow to become men and soldiers, rapists and murders.
All it would need is one war band of the “them” to come over the horizon and their lives would change
There is a mist in the west that is receding back, each morning I see it recede and each evening I see it return.
They were not always right, the life that lives within the valleys will recede with the mist.
The cross can rules for a thousand years and still the children will play for ever under the tree of Anwyn.
They come back some times, though they are all different for this is not their place any more.
Long time sitting in my Grandsons hall in the early morning I see them come out of the mist.
Their heads are so still while their eyes are dormant, slowly the lost and forgotten begin to wander.
The cross teaches that this is folly, and that there are no ghosts only demons.
I see her, my darling Vylwilion as she walks to my window to stare in at her old and broken father.
“It is not time for me yet”. I tell her and wave my daughter away with my hand.
To play under the apple groves all is forgotten and there is only joy, the rape and torture of my dead child are lost in the laughter of the other children whom have passed on.
Returning through the mists of time to the present means a dark and horrid return to the memories that are better left forgotten.
Her mother died at my hands and my daughter at hers, it is no wonder that my long and dead child waits for me still.
I put out the bread and milk, but she ever makes mischief on the inhabitants of the hall, the priests come to try and exorcise her.
The time to cross is in the evening mist, yet she always come within the dying hours of the morning.
At it’s weakest times perhaps the memories are not so strong.
Britain was a dream once, now there is only Anglend, land of the Angles, I hold on for the sake of want for any thing better.
I dream long, and wonder how much further in this realm of existence will I live.
I was there the night they took it, when all was asleep within the tomb I poured in the water, and drank, and live.
A hundred years have passed since, the Cross claims I am a saint and it Is not worth arguing any more and better yet to kiss the dying figure of Christ for the sake of peace.
I am no saint, others were made saints.
Siluria is now Dyffed, it is there I live upon an old hill, some times I let my Great Grandson and his children help me up to an old cave.
Within its dark stone walls I touch and feel the gods still within the land, they are asleep now, still their presence is there, waning, forgotten, I sit with them till it becomes to cold.
Then I retreat to bed, to sleep, then wake to see my daughter return with the mist to call me over, but I will stay a little longer.
DAWNS GOLD
A winters mist rolled along the old and tiresome hills, carved stone of natures toil lay bare and raw from her exposure.
These hills had names once, now old titles are long forgotten while new are adapted into the common knowledge of the youth, but I remember.
It will be a hard winter this year, a failed crop on a waning moon was never a good sign.
Nailing the first born sheep to the trees will do nothing this year.
I am dawns protector with a staff headed by mistletoe I welcome the first light.
Distant places where my people now hide they would never allow this, hear in the darkness of our enemies I can live.
Understand me not, still I am, a last breeze of old that was once a mighty and powerful storm.
I remain, now there is only chaos and darkness, a darkness so deep hidden amongst the trees of ignorance and hate.
Today it is a steady pool with no ripples, time will come when the rains of new birth will cause the waters to over flow, expand, bloody will flow.
So I welcome the dawn each morning and hope, pray and love what is now gone.
DEVOUR OF HATRED
Broken spines of her lost design, melting pot of the souls of the lost.
Tasting flesh so long and dead, I drink your torture and you taste mine.
Blades cutting against rusted doors, feel it crawling behind your eyes.
Calling to the souls, is to scream into the abyss, Tunnels and Darkness.
Voice is heard, received, never can the vacuum of light reply.
Say not black tunnel what you don’t know, breathe my heat.
Consumed by the scratching of lead, pull and bite my arm.
Pierce my eyes with glass, know my tongue with your own.
Swallow my Horror, Drink my Revenge, Taste my Love. Never Again.
MISS
I miss my mind but not my soul, barley a fingers breathe away.
Like tears of glass they pour from my face, so much agony and despair.
Long, so long I wait, hearing the metal scrape down my spine.
Know not I do, Know no knowledge of what you speak.
Pain is our greatest survival tool, enemy whom we can never escape.
INHERIT
There are those that said man is inherently evil, but I say when evil crosses our path we can only pause, and hope we don’t join in step through confusion of our original journey.
It never happened here on the long rock of solitude I sit, paths for truth and justice can often end in blood shed, so silently I can observe the heroes,
And villains as they take them selves along their rout in life.
It is not for me to judge, and though I tolerate the indifference and intolerance in this world, it doesn’t mean I have to like it, because I don’t.
All in all this is a most honest statement as I can make, let the world argue and fight and kill them selves.
Knowledge is to be assessed and proven, I listen to all arguments with a critical eye.
Our darkest moment comes not when we hold the blade over our enemy, but when we first doubted our ability to have done any thing else.
AHEAD
How can you fear the monster ahead when you are terrified of the beast within.
Grinding sounds of twisted bone with the grating of emotional flesh.
It’s lust, an endless river of thirst and hunger, craving, hating, destroying.
It can hear them whispering their plots, enraged hatred for their ignorance.
She is my horror and I am her burden, opposite engenders of circumstance.
I give her peace, she allows me to sample the taste of unchained madness.
She belongs to me, and I belong to her, the violence within.
Confronted, she becomes my thirstless ambition to quench it with another’s pain and suffering.
A long endless pit, there I leave her chained, I do not block my ears from her thoughts,
She never closes her eyes to what she hates to see, for that keeps us ever connected in a grip of need then want.
Shadows dawn upon her vicious brow, a silence of guilt for kindness as I repent for my vicious actions, still I drink her broth.
Endless…
GLINT
When you’ve seen it, a glint of humanity in the eyes of a killer.
Child saved by pure instinct from a swimming pool.
Moments before: Rising blades for a thirst that can never be quenched.
A look of pure malice from the most glorious of saviors.
Blood spraying high on a prison cell roof, bribed guard counting his winnings.
Touching the lips of the damned with a single finger.
Broken, lost, screaming, nature’s fury flashes the insides of eyes blinded by rage.
Savoir rewarded with betrayal, locked away.
Medal of bravery for the monster, whom on instinct acted.
Ying and Yang met between dividing window faced with their own reflection.
Though blocked by one’s own superiority, they see only their eyes.
Light grows, reflection turns to transparency.
Standing broken, hated, rejected, hunched, anxious. Regret.
Tall and firm, loved, warmed, raised, nurtured, hope.
Confronted with the awful view of souls reflection, savoir hungers for the blood of the damned.
Monster, faced filled with tears yearns to return, to a world of affection, care, and love he has never known.
Two take their lives on a night cut by the haze of an un seasonal heat.
Screaming, tearing, hating, feasting, cell mate : hung drawn, bled dry, wrists cut, lips of dried metallic salt.
Sadness, tears, a warm blanket, stuffed animal, crying for a mother, yearning, maroon soaked sheets.
When you’ve seen it, a glint of horror in the eyes of a savoir…….
LIGHT
It was a light. Not Blinding or bright, a dull light. A never ending sequence of the moments between Dusk and Evening.
We had not owned a TV in weeks. My fathers decision. Out here amongst the fields you might as well be lost to all but your self, and every thing around you. Nothing could even exist at night if you were to think it hard enough.
Toward the east Is the sun. It hovers at the same spot, Amongst the dull nauseating color of burnt Persimmon.
Very little wind. The trees and the wheat all move slowly at a constant pace. When an animal dies its breathing becomes labored.
On the farm there is a shed, in the shed I found a box, in the box was a radio. I turned it on.
Merg………….Y…………Class……….In Homes…….Till…….Flui…………………(Static)………………………………………………………………………………………………….. (Static)………………………………………(Static)…………………………………………………………………………………...(Perfect Clear Voice) This is Gill Holt Who Signing Off…………………(Static)………………………….. Good Night.
Father Prays, Mother Washes. Sister just stares out from the window. Staring all day long.
I had found him. The Help. My Father Paid. Out side of the shed, no body, no hands or arms, just blood. So much blood, no sound, no noise. Still the trees labor.
Its getting close now. No long does it sit. Above the horizon. Sun is gone, replaced by something else.
Father: “Didn’t Listen”.
Mother:………………..
Sister: “Not Fair”.
Standing still. In the darkness. Surrounded, covered, drowned by the void. Father cares not. Mother Cares Not, Sister cares not. I turn away and step into the house. Single candle burns. Small light.
Black.
Musty and stale. Stone and Shelter. I feel the warmth of security beneath the ground. Hidden. Hidden Well.
Floor Boards. Then Earth. Then Rock. Our house under home made from war long ago.
Each end of the room now, 4 corners, rapped up in blankets.
I tried to listen but the TV was turned off, mother saids nothing.
It Is Fair. Our Fate is already written.
Breathing above my head…………………………………….Loud Scream……….
Black.
UNUSUAL
Crack in the minds eye.
Law enforcement is only a lost loved one away from stepping over the line.
ONE
"Morning Francis". I was always so happy to see him.
"You know Francis this game we play its so trivial, we can play cards if you want, no of course not, you're a man of many minds and personal experiences, that's what you said to me when I first met you".
"Your wife is still so worried, but I told her, your in safe hands".
I'm walking around the room dusting off objects and humming an ice cream tune to my self.
"My children love ice cream and when they have been good, they get there ice cream". I said scratching my knuckles.
"Now as you know Francis there are some things that I am unable to do, you know when we opened that box and saw those drawings, well only after you ate my sister, did I think it might be possible. I fucking hated my sister, so much, but you had no right to do what you did. No. No".
Drill through right hand.
Left hand hacked off with meat cleaver.
Eye removed with a sharpened nail.
Body whipped with okay strap.
Hot Iron to the face and chest.
Hung from Ceiling till joints popped out.
Electro Shock to the Testicles.
5 Teeth pulled with burning pliers.
"They had to be hot you see, or else the gums wouldn't cauterize, though tonight your going down the whole and then your free".
TWO
The hole it is deep and far from light. There is stone. It is deep. Built from the rage and despair. Under the stone there is soil. From the soil there is another hole and this is deeper. At the bottom of this hole is a plank of wood that sits wedged over a moving bed of water.
On the wood sits a dead baby. Grey. Lifeless.
A perfect circle of life.
Beginning and end in once place.
THREE
I heard a crack and a scream. At the bottom now. She Is my own mortuary.
At work again in the office. Last one there. Only at night when no one is here can I go through every ones stuff. At the end of every night there is a ringing and a banging. Go I run, Run I go, straight into the filing room. In compactor there is an open compartment. Climbing into the compartment I'm in the wall.
Traveling for what seems like hours.
Its hazy I cant breathe.
I'm out of the darkness and sitting in the center of the darkness, on a stool holding a small black cat is a man.
"It wasn't worth it was it, I could have told you that".
"What do I do now". I asked.
"Go back the way you came and turn left at the last exit". I turn. "And close the door".
I close the door and renter the hole.
Past the exit I follow the torch light. My back aches. My eyes hurt.
I am in a cave, there is no way out, a mirror, a large mirror, so much dust. There is no reflection.
FOUR.
After Four comes Five. That's it.
I was a friend.
“Stop fucking thinking about it”. She always had such a delicate way with words. I couldn’t help it. No matter how hard I tired I couldn’t forget the fact I had a bullet lodged in my gut. I had gotten this far wounded and bleeding like a stuck pig and not even had a second thought. Now with time to think I started to notice the dark road ahead triplication, and the sweat on the back of my neck turning cold.
“talk to me you fucking bitch, get my mind of it”.
“Alright alright, big tits think of big tits, remember that prison officer with the big ass you like”. She reminded.
“Yeah she was good stuff, face a bit like a bird, fucking blue eyes”.
“That’s right Gordian, that’s right, remember what you wanted to do with her”. She said taking hold of my dick. “Last thing to die remember”.
“Yeah I wanted to get her into some fucking hand cuffs, fuck that ass of hers”. I said and laughed as she unzipped my pants.
“You said you thought she could probably deep throat a fucking horse”. She said taking my penis in her hand.
“Yeah some girls you just look at them and you get a feeling in your gut, not my fucking gut”. I was reminded again of the bullet.
“Don’t think about it, remember that skinny little cunt, think of her noises, her smell, remember how much great it was when she was sucking your dick, huh, you remember”.
My mind was in a tangiun spell of pleasure and fear, and she was right, my dick was straight up like a mast, fucking last thing to die.
“After we get out of the hospital I’m going to fuck your brains out”. I told her and started to laugh. Wasn’t so hard after all.
“I cant wait big fellah I cant wait, you just make sure you get us there”.
“Winter, where exactly were you shot”. I asked her.
“The shoulder”. She replied.
“All that blood”.
“they roughed me up badly, you think I’ve lost my looks”. She asked me.
With the light of the street lights I turned my head to stare at her face. Her right eye was closed shut with the rest of her crusted red with dried blood. That beautiful white dress she had been wearing was now a sickly black color, so much blood.
“I cant fucking believe I got you out”. I admitted.
“Your getting soft, come on, I know and you cant hide it, I saw you pant at your daughters competition, all those pretty young girls doing there gymnastics”.
“Fuck yeah, sweet soft and pale, the things id like to teach them”. I said taking a corner. “What would you teach them”. She asked me.
“As much as I could before I cum down there throat, little sluts better swallow, shit”. The last exclamation was from the shock of being hit side on by another car.
“Of Cock and on the revolver”. I shouted at her.
“Where”. She screamed back.
“In the glove compartment”. I snapped back. The other car looked about a hundred years old, rusted and covered in old spray paint.
Three of them, three dirty filthy badly dressed thugs, they were laughing.
I took the small standard issue revolver and waited for them steer close to us. Bang, Bang, Bang. The puffs of smoke blurred my vision. The other car steered off the road, I stopped the car and got out, my penis rock hard and fly undone.
I put my self together, did up my fly, tucked in my shirt and felt the cold wet patch on my stomach and felt a cold shiver go up my spine.
Six meters down the road the other car had gone into a ditch. I reached it as a figure came out of the car. I put the next three shots into his head letting him fall into a pool of his own blood.
Empty, get the last two bullets, two bullets left in my gun. The driver had taken two shots in the face, his brains splattered all over the passengers seats.
“Number Three”. I called out. Bright Light, Sharp Pain, my cheek. Ouch. Out of the Ten shots fired from number three still hurt and shocked from the crash, one bullet hit my cheek.
“Fuck”. I said and turned my head and turned back and fire my two shots into his skull, his body went limp and fell down in the back seat.
Now I’m really in trouble, strange smell in my nose. Back in the car. Off I go.
THREE YEARS BEFORE THE NIGHT.
I never drank coffee but I was sitting in a coffee shop staring out the window into the pouring rain. I was trying to remember that last I had slept with her, spoken to her, told her of an idea I had and I couldn’t.
Judy was gone and I was alone.
Thankful again that we had never had children.
Maybe I should have become a sailor.
I am so lonely. An empty space is now in my heart. Empty and alone. Lonely and Alone.
Then she was there.
Lithe, slender, pale, long dyed red hair, eyes dark. Gothic.
In three hours I would know and taste every part of her body.
I would fall into her arms in a heroine induced haven of peace and tranquility.
5 Hours later I would be puking in the toilet.
10 Hours Later I would be wrapped in her arms, clawed and bled from her passion.
24 hours later I would be beating to death a drug dealer.
27 Hours later I would forget, be high again. Be happy, with pleasure rather then without.
I stared at her like a hungry animal, boob tube black, short skirt, pink. Seduction, I craved her skin.
We met eyes and as with most normally I would have smiled and looked away to hide my intentions, but I didn’t, no I did not, rather I kept staring, a meeting of minds. She would sit next to me and I would say.
“My wife left me and I want to forget”. And she would reply. “I can help you with that”.
40 Hours Later I would hit her for burning my sandwich after to much X.
“Take my hand”. She would say. So soft and all I could think about was my daughter. Three times a charm for marriage, no, never again.
50 Hours Later I had put a Gun to my head, then to hers, then to mine, then to hers, to mine to hers, to mine to hers, to mine, to hers. I fired.
Talk about putting a bullet in your addiction.
TWENTY SEVEN YEARS BEFORE THE NIGHT
I woke up and walked into the living room. I kicked the chair out.
I am Fourteen years old. I have a tie on, a jumper on, long pants. Looking in the mirror I feel handsome.
“Good Bye Dad I’m going to school now”. I take my attention away from my own beautiful blue eyes and stare instead in the reflection of my dad.
His house was small and looked like shit. Dad’s face was purple with his tongue bitten between clenched teeth. His body is still twitching but he is long dead.
“I warned you if you kept doing it one day I’d kick the chair out”. I told my father as he hung from the ceiling fan and pissed down his own leg.
“Alright I’m going to call the ambulance then I’m off to school”. I called the Ambulance, picked up my bag
I’m walking down the street and I had never felt so happy in my entire life, so free, so capable. That day I was suspended from school, I bit the nose off this boy in my class whom 5 months earlier had made a joke at my expense. I was to young to have that on my record though.
4 Years later I raped that stuck up bitch in our year, miss fucking popular, she was popular when I paid those 4 homeless bums to fuck her up after I was done. She died seven years later of Pneumonia from Aids and Hepatitis something.
TEN YEARS AGO
I always loved being a Cop. I arrested more people then God and half of them even deserved it.
THREE DAYS AGO
I slipped over in the shower and hit my head.
Women walks into my office and tells me if I don’t help her she’ll be dead. My head hurts, I’m tired, to old.
Who is she. She tells me that soon she will arrested and executed.
THREE MONTHS LATER FROM THE NIGHT.
I always liked the dessert the way it goes on and on forever, kind of like Time. She was dead, Buried. I was alive and well as well could be, scar on my cheek though, a constant reminder of my good behavior. You will find that in life that very little of your bad deeds will ever shine past your own charm and comforting smile. Good deeds will leave you broken, bloody, heart shattered and scarred for life.
“You want to know why they call this a desert”. Smug Tracey, she was always a heartless cunt, long perfect blonde hair, eyes as grey as her heart.
“A lot of sand”. I suggested.
“No, is because it never rains here, that is our world, tears don’t matter”. She told me.
I hated watching these ass wholes dig my grave.
“Let me fucking do it, I’ll have it done in half the time”. I told her.
“No I’m not giving you any thing you could hurt me with”. She said and pointed the gun between my eyes.
“I want you to watch”.
“What the fuck for, I don’t care one way or another”. She took the gun away and stared into my eyes.
“Oh really, no fuck you, gonna eat your heart, none of that stuff”. She asked and I all I gave her was a shrug of the shoulders.
“This is my suicide not your kill”. I told her and that seemed to puzzle her. “I came to you and I knew exactly what you were going to do, I knew I couldn’t trust you but I don’t give a fuck, I will be at your side till the very day you die, I will never leave you”.
“Oh is that right, you wont ever leave me, strange proposal, Death or beside me”.
“How is it any different”. I asked her and she shrugged. “Untie him”. cut her throat the very next day.
Eighty Seven Years After My Mother Died In Child Birth.
I am that nice old man in the nursing home who’s family never visits, poor old man they say, so lovely and polite. I am going to do it tonight this time for sure. While I stare out my window toward the street while the nurse makes me. I Cheated, Lied, Murdered and Raped my way to survival and my own amusement. What do I have to show for it, but be that lovely old man in the room who is so polite. No one is alive left to say different. A scar or on my cheek for a good deed, I was always a product of my environment with a bit of natural psychopathic tendencies thrown in. One person I was a good friend to died, and I was shot in the face for my troubles.