The loss of the Key that was given to me by the people who left me for dead, Though lies still arise, bringing tears to my eyes, I face it without any dread. The doors that stay closed, while the words are composed, remain behind walls in my Head. And yet there remains a balm for my pains, and the Beast that must always be fed. I pour on the page, the source of my rage, and cannot return to my bed. I am not so insane, to stand out in the rain dripping blood, turning puddles to Red. So come with me please and cure this disease of the people who left me for dead.