I like a man who knows what he is after.
Who revels in the joy of music, sex and laughter.
A man who doesn't care who knows his deepest thoughts.
Enjoying the corruption of what innocent eyes and ears are taught.
Nobody ever got enjoyment from staying a zero.
That is why I look up to the Byronic hero.
Sitting with one leg on the table and the other over the arm of the chair.
He knows full well that he receives a shocked stare.
Squirming with delight as he wallows in the sin.
He is dedicated to that naughty voice within.
He isn't a demon but he comes near though.
That scandalous bugger we call the Byronic hero.
Whether it is Orton or Byron himself.
They never let themselves stay on the shelf.
Creating the chance and taking the risk.
They never stirred, they frantically whisked.
I would never admire someone as fucked up a Nero.
But I certainly admire the honesty and defiance of the Byronic hero.
About the Creator
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Tortured Soul
The soul careened blindly through a void where it scraped against the walls of a narrow tunnel, amassing a cumulative friction that created all the heat the devil would ever need to torment it. There was no light at the end, not even a fire. From the bottom a cold wind blew, and the clash of extremities spawned vapors of terror in the deadened and numbed appendage that was this strange, delirious, drunken consciousness.
By C. Rommial Butler6 days ago in Fiction
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