An ash, an Owed and a Poetic letter

An ash to angst the eye of the beholder of the beast upon which the blade doth sit. A death owed to me by all that’s hell in the mind much lost to where the sandman cast my ability to sleep. So hell a shade on paper or to my pen ink pot for where words may fail the screaming visual of all I do regret to feel. My demon will have to carry forth the vice of a man in poetic verse undone.

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