Cold and deadly, came the agents’ ladies,
To seduce my past self; his timid mast
Floundered under a veil of skin that’s pale.
“Words are power,” said one whose fake lover
Whispered to a cunning Darkness, “Possess
Me with your holy woes.” arose Her prose.
Alas, I forgave because of the grave;
The grave of the Ego. The truth? We go
Towards that which rewards outward appeal.
idiot's story 