Sir High Lord Zen - Volume 4, Number 2
September 11th, 1992
OH GOD! IT’S CULTURE!!!
For all you poets out there, how’s this:
Tonight I feel pain
I don’t know why? I only hurt.
The pain grows without release
The great editor in the sky mentions me going ballistic.
It isn’t me he should worry about. It’s pain.
My Black Soul is a sponge for the stuff.
Wallowing in it giving it definition and structure
But every sponge can become saturated.
What happens when my soul turns so black that it can’t absorb any more pain?
Will I die?
Will you?