Perhaps the reason why I hesitate to scry my soul
Is because I fear what I might see
These pages hold my heart and mind,
Scooped from within and smeared across paper
Left to fester in the dark.
Surely what returns is an abomination.
A sick sort of grotesque fascination is all I expect.
But what arrives
while it is indeed abominable
Holds its own sort of magnificence.
Behold my might, held secret from the world!
(Don't) Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!
What I have created
This monstrosity, a crime against nature
Albeit a beautiful one
Must never bee seen.