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So, as some of y'all know, I like poetry. I'm a cocky, egotistical maniac about it. It's won awards. I've been paid for it. I've been published. I've been working on other projects lately, but poetry has always been an easy passion for me. I know what I like about my poetry. I know what gets people thinking.

So, I've started a poetry journal. I'm putting in all of my best pieces, new and old. I started it today, by putting a piece in I wrote while I was at the orientation. I couldn't make it through the full day, not even two full hours. Instead I went to Walmart. No one else will see this, until I'm finished the journal. It's something I feel comfortable showing you fine people, before I finish the journal.

A painful, faithful dementia
Holding captive my mind.
A sick sense of unknowing
An ocean of confusion.

No more, I'm done
A tidal wave of fear -
A sea of bodies
Yelling! Screaming!

Terror of time
A sip of arrogant curiosity
All is not lost
The moment is gone;
I am here.";

If I might be so bold,
To ask if I might have your hand to hold?

It's so dark here and
I would find such comfort
In holding your cool fingers
As the blood drips clear.

Perhaps I should but grasp
The one still attached
But the actions might
Lead you to a wrong conclusion

I feel nothing for you
Beyond a desperate fear
Of the monster who gives chase.

If I hold your severed hand
Perhaps it might calm me
To think of some human contact
Even if it is wholly dead.

Please, if you don't mind
May I hold your hand in mine?

What once I loved so fiercely
I now can say I fear.
Your touch is a hallow shadow
Of what was once dear.

A holy terror you became
A sincere beast of pain
Knowing only hatred
Your words a wounding cane.

Beautiful as you could have been
The demon who always hid
Bubbling up, boiling forth
Never meaning what you did.

Fourl tempting monster
Please give me my own soul
Terrible official of love
Leaves me shaking like a fool.