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Our Mistress
  I walk along the way of death and tire
  The cold and hardened marble is a tease
  For which I cannot hope is hidden mire
  Pleasant is the fire of winter breeze
  Hurt and limp I keep a broken stride
  With cloak and sword I cut while blind and mute
  As if I have a meager luck of pride
  She nods to fall and drain my withered root
  Lack of love will lean to whet my pen
  The light and empty cartridge is a coin
  Her tongue is fierce and cuts the minds of men
  A meager price to bind her wanting groin
  So certain is my lust for harsh abyss
  Sweet chirp and song betray my wanting bliss

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Favorite Quote:
"While some seek to find themselves, I shall seek to create myself."