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He? She?
Xe is Arindell Vins.

Xe is a friend that I found,
Lost in old forgotten cobwebs
Draped all over the corners of that house.

Xe wears a savage grin
And twirls a knife in one hand, a short sword in the other.
Xe offers me bleeding salvation.

Xe hands me a book.
The book is named “Journes”
And xe keeps repeating, “dear Journes, oh Journes”.

And I suppose it was rather strange,
Because that book wasn’t really there at all.

She? He?
Arindell Vins likes using my hands to write.

Xe pours out words of megalomania and anguish
In equal measure
All over the blank document I opened.

I read over it sometimes,
Only sometimes,
Because it looks more familiar than I bargained for.

Journes’s pages are more splattered with blood
Than with ink.
“Dear Journes, oh Journes…”

“Would you save me?
If you could?”

She…he…? Xe……?
Arindell Vins doesn’t exist.

Xe stares blankly down at a body that isn’t xyrs.
Xe looks through eyes that are too real.
Slowly, Arindell Vins dies.

And with xem, so does Journes.
Oh Journes, my dear Journes.

This poem doesn’t really do Arindell Vins justice, I think. Maybe I’ll post xyr journal entries one day. Anyhow, in loving memory: 2012-2013.