In the mirror of my existence,

I see not me,

But the false image of a lost knight,

Battling demons of self,

And Conjurers of thought,

Through the lightless forests of apathy,

And black mountains of selfishness,

Slaying insult-spitting dragons of hatred,

And suffocating the sweating giants of frustration,

And as the knight crushes each obstacle,

He seeks not a maiden’s affection,

Not the rescue of his lord’s army,

Neither does he have a castle to return to,

Nor fields to which he could retire as a farmer,

All he seeks is another deep wound,

And the knowledge that the scar will be worth it.

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