My Weapon
(Written 8/30/96)

This is my weapon,
Sharp pencil in a tight grasp.
Fleshy pulp under it's paint.
I watch the black blood,
pour out of my mind,
slaying it's victim,
from the inside.

This is the way I fight,
defiant in my dark corner.
I choose not to fight in reality,
I just put up with it.
Shove it down deep inside,
open it up,
bleed it later,
all over the paper.

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Joshua S. Bell
icbod@spy.net