by Nick Gisburne
I think you know exactly what I need.
It’s what I take from all the filth I find.
If you were clean, unblemished, you would bleed.
Instead, I seek the splinter in your mind.
A victim of addiction, cold and clear,
What persecution put it there? Who knows?
Embrace it, without reverence, or fear.
I want to show you how aggression grows.
I come to break whatever holds you back,
The crystal sliver stabbing at your heart.
Permission to resist is all you lack,
To pull your self together, not apart.
But if I pluck this piece of pain from you,
What crimes for me, for Evil, will you do?
