An English Writer's Mind

Your eyes view me as a demon If so, I'll be a devil. Your gaze skews me like a saint That be, I'll be an angel. I can only be me, and nothing more; A lover in matrimony, or a sensual paramour A god of hegemony, or a ravenous manticore A bringer of sanctimony, or a scandelous whore A growing agrimony, or a feral bore A member of an amphictyomy, or one to abhor Adjusted to polyphony, or broken to the core Advant to gluttony, or one to adore A fiend in parsimony, or one that gives for A two-faced phony, or a mind to explore A fester of idiocy, or a wise mentor A cist of disharmony, or a tranquil shore A contradicting irony, or a stage of folklore I will only be me, and nothing more. Your tongue speaks me of as a heaven, If so, I'll make you tranquil. Your voice spews me like a wraith That be, I'll be pure evil.

            The withered cerulean colored trees beyond my cell window looked as if they endured the harshest tundra, as stalactites of ice hung sideways from their branches, but even with how cold the world looked, I felt nothing against my body. This came as a surprise as I had not even a piece of fabric to cover my starved looking figure. The world outside was a frozen wasteland, covered in shades of blue and white. Everything I saw before me was foreign, and I have no idea how I ended up in this prison. This place would have been beautiful if it didn’t appear so unforgiving. The sky was a deep indigo, showing no signs of a sun or a moon. That too, felt as it was consumed by malice. A world destroyed by the elements and blotted in shadows. Where am I? I turned my attention back to the quarters of my confinement. There was no bed, no toilet, nothing but immovable stones that matched the color of the world outside. Even the gr...