I am a nut case, with an eye dangling from around my neck and the sleek shadow draped across my thick form, no one sees a clown for what he is: a manic-depressive sociopath. As I look back and reminisce of the once-was, almost a full year in the choking past, I realize it was always the quiet moments, those times when I stared dumbfounded in joy at my meant-to-be-bride. Always the times when in a joyous stupor I tripped over my words the same as a drunk trips over his own shoes. Those are the times I remember, those are the times I can still hold dear and fast to my heart. But I have to grow up.
Pounding drums won't let me sleep, but I don't want to. The moon is shinning, and she dances just for me. There was a day, a day when I hosted a ball in honor of the Fairy Queen, but there was a language barrier, even when I didn't realize it. My words ran like mud and filth, spewing like spit and spittle from my mouth, she rightly fled from me. But recently I have made new friends, friends who can speak my language without flinching, and as far as I know, they are masters of the Verse.
A long time ago I was stabbed in my heart, it was ripped out, and I bled slowly into Death's embrace. He held me so tight, and kissed me softly on my cold lips, oh how I wished we had met under better circumstances.
I am rising slowly from my grave, Lilith and Brünhilde are holding my hand, and a gelfling maid is showing me the path to Heaven. Few things seemed to make me smile when I was alive, but now that I am dead the very sunrise makes this dead man grin.
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