I lie awake in my bed
Covered in sweat
A dripping cold sweat that cascades slowly down the surface of my pale skin.
I stare blankly at the sharpened blade before me
Gently, even lovingly, caressing the handle,
running my gothic fingers over its cutting edge.
The sky is especially black this evening
It makes me happy.
From the dwelling next door I hear laughter.
A vapid, perfunctory cackle that fills me with rage.
My morbid seclusion is affronted by such frivolity.
Again I stare at the blade
An object of ritual with
a grand, malevolent air.
It is beautiful.
I gently raise the knife so that it is held before my eyes.
It shall be consecrated in blood

As I am wont to do