Probably my darkest of poems about William BloodDagger, but it really shows what his thoughts are like. And when I say mask, I say it metaphorically.
Dead and Cold,
Who’s eyes vary,
Who’s mind is old,
Who does not tarry,
When he is assigned a task,
Where he will kill,
For behind his mask,
Lies the wish for a pill,
To remove the images,
Burned into his memory.
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