To a foolish, stubborn Satyr:


Can you feel the knife go in?
As it passes through your flesh;
When it breaks the skin
Does it cause you to cry out in pain,
Or has your selfishness numbed your brain?

Does it hurt more or less
When to the darkness
You confess
Your own hand wields the rusty blade
That slices ragged, tendons splayed,

Ribbons red and streaming fly
Like geysers from the tear
Into the apathetic sky?
For even this display is futile.
You ask for pity? You, the imbecile!

The world cares little for excuses.
Wish for change,
But your nature refuses.
Go on! Be the goat you are,
But learn the lesson from the scar.

Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Lupar, in the year 389 AF.