by By Luis F. DaSilva
It is in these trying times that you feel welcome to torture me? You know full well I can’t drown you with melodies of better days, and you only chose this place because I can’t outrun you in the melancholic state.
Out of all the matches I’ve won against you, the only weapon I have left is this pen. I might as well pay an ode to you, for I have been taught to give credit when credit is due. But know I won’t go down without a proper duel, you have chosen your opponent at its weakest, but not completely subdued.
For every drop of ink that stains this paper, I’ll take back a tear I refuse to shed at your will, and yes, you may have a tight grip around my neck, but you feel the pulse...That thunder is within my heart. I dare you to draw first blood, for you will see the lightning that courses through my veins, know that I am the battering ram that topples men and you? Simply the shadow that lurks in the dungeons amongst my mistakes.