The friend who tells me I’m a selfish ass
is drunk, so maybe I should let it pass
before his acid eats out my insides,
the torture chamber where my self abides.
It is a clean and comfortable room
with open windows that dispel the gloom,
but there on my imaginary rack
I am my own tormenter, wearing black.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Is Churchill America’s Hero? (ft. Sean McMeekin)
In this episode, Sean McMeekin joins R. R. Reno on The Editor’s Desk to talk about his…
The West Distorted
G. K. Chesterton’s novel The Flying Inn begins with a strange seaside encounter involving one Misysra Ammon,…
Does Just War Doctrine Require Moral Certainty?
Pope Leo XIV has made it clear that the U.S. war on Iran does not, in his…
