Shane W.- Age: 21

25 September 2009

The Fencer's Blade

Parry, parry, beat, beat.
With a saber in my hands I cross the lands; landscapes frozen with snow.
Disenchanted hands imposing imminent danger to those atrocious foes.
Impressionable ditto muck, has become complacent with being faceless-
Concealed in a layer of nonchalant personality, but overtly misconstrued.
Unequivocal to the public's pleas, though subsequent to fall to misfortune.
Hostility conveys the message relayed, though belligerent times have fallen on us all.
Atrocious: Aboriginal fears, crossed with tears, seen by nobody but one s own, disheveled self.
Verified by what's inside, the highly irradiated snow releases its own toxicity.
Emitting for us all shame and hatred; swiftness into the starry night.
Crossover, body to body, bind, extract the retractable knife. The blunt rubber tip is only-
A veiled facade. A duplicated chrome magnet of sheer pain. Pain receptors have erupted,
Then endorphins grow numb to the fading erasure from reality- Perceived by one.
Blood trickles down. Clotted shit riddles the veins. Lungs perforated. Gone without shame.