The Shaman

Written by: Skyy Allen

Thinking absolutely nothing, yet needing something just the same. I have my pride, my 
strife, my doubts--though never quite ascending to greater heights than self. Full of mortal 
intricacies & predictive mindless tendencies. Subpoenaed in a room of shadows. Lingering in 
& out of childhood sorrows. If I had the strength to change myself, I'd change into a torrent 
if just for a moment & lement over all that I have done. For seeded deep within lies the 
screwtape seed of sin. No sooner than I began do I find myself hand in hand with the 
shaman. Seated around a ring of mirrors, the shaman comes with blood & mire anointing my 
head with hope on fire. He chants a prayer, a vex, a snare. Casting me off into Satan's lair, 
to combat the fame of the witching hour.