No one understood
why he indulged in the agony of
the pen, as he dragged it
across the ghostly sheet,
and spewed out emotion
line per line.
Once the verses had been finished,
came the
torture—to be corrected and
freed from error
by the master—
verses, slashed open with
every mistake,
until they bled scarlet, with the promise
of being better.
No one understood
his masochistic endearment
to punishment and healing,
why he took delight in the vicious cycle
he had to live with.
To others, he had gone mad
in the eternal quest to find
the beautiful out of the tortured.
