By Xavier Bugos
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The crinkling paper
The smudged ink.
These things bring me comfort.
Theres a smell of moths that have nibbled on the
pages,
Theres a smell of freshly laid ink and the sorrow
of fallen trees
I take a deep breath too
Savor the scents
Smells that carry me to my palace of joy.
Because outside those doors
Outside those gates of
Hell, lies soldiers and warriors alike.
Men with blades and wicked taunts.
Men who value strength,
But not intelligence,
Men who value bravery,
But not wisdom,
Men who value who you kill,
But not how, not why, not why not.
Maybe it’s me–
who is wrong?
Maybe I, sat in my museum,
Of leather-bound pages with smudges of ink,
Am the one–
who sees the world wrong?
The boy who sees every possibility,
But who is too weak to hold a sword,
The boy who could exploit every weakness,
But who couldn’t stomach a kill.
Well, they’re unfortunately incorrect.
I’ve understood a kill,
I’ve seen the blood flow,
I’ve watched the bodies decompose,
I’ve felt the rigor mortis set in.
I’m no longer that weak boy who couldn’t stomach a
kill,
I’ve grown and have been wise.
I’ve grown and have been intelligent,
I’ve grown to know why,
I kill.
Now those demons bang
On those gates to hell
But I’ve grown wise,
And hide a knife
Between the crinkling pages.
About the Author
Xavier Bugos is in his second and final year of ICC as well as his senior year of high school. Xavier is an avid writer who has enjoyed forming countless stories and fantasies in his time. After long days of studying and working, Xavier often enjoys playing games like dungeons and dragons where he can explore the world of the creative and passionate. He often expresses more of this creativity through his writings.