A poem about being alone, waiting for someone unknown.

A recent misadventure with a pocket knife got me to thinking about pocket knives in general, and all they can stand for or mean to some people.

This song / poem is about being with someone who doesn’t care about you. They don’t care if your having problems and just want to move on with their lives, but then when they’re having trouble they like to talk to you or when they want something from you then they know you or listen to you. I hate it when people I know do that to me. I sometimes feel like taking a power saw and riding it over thier skull.

A short narrative about cutting.

Just a bunch of words.

A brief look into the knife culture of yobs.

Poem about the life of a self inflicter – their side.

The Road to Vϋndark.

Northern Shadow of War.

The Memories of Forgotten Ages.