He is a mind under a fist
Within a box inside a darkness;
He is a monolith upon an obolisk...
A mighty legend in his own mind - -
Owner of imaginary greatness.
He is a whisper of obsession
Holding tightly to the doorknob,
Standing just outside the bathroom door...
Speaking of oblivion to his captured occupant....
And he knows she is there,
Just beyond his reach,
Because only he can save the World
And some one has to listen.
He is the emptiness behind a maelstrom,
Baby Woodrose seeds in packets
Complete with psychedelic instsructions..
There are no reflections in his eyes;
They turn inward to look upon his own pet monsters.
Sterile pools of matte' blue that see everything.
Such deference in his statement of inquirey:
"Does my staring bother you...?"
He is a subtle demon lover
Who fornicates in letters,
Convoluting explanations for his lack of divinity.
He smells of chaos and distortion --
Furtive movements beneath the covers...
Hiding inside the locked closet
The closet where his special books
And special flashlight reside.
And he is maddness with the softest voice
I have ever heard.
But do not listen....
Do not listen.
He is just a man I knew.
The scariest man I ever knew.
Do not listen.......