
This creative writing was written in song form. It's between a young boy and his blank piece of notebook paper. He is a quiet boy in class, but in solitude a different side comes out . He uses his imagination to believe that a mere sheet of paper is a living organism, and he gets gratification by inflicting pain on it. I visit the perspective of both the child and the paper, the writing tells the rest. Toward the end, controversial ideas take over. The boy doesn't know it yet, but he is defined as a young sadist. Read further to explore the dark, deranged atmosphere of my twisted mindset. Remember that everything I write deals with something in my own life. -Brandon Davis (Sir ßane Ðefiance)
The Sadistic & His Blank Page
(The Sadist:)
Blank page, erase the pain that I’ve endured today. Blank page, erase all the days in a life I’ve overstayed. Blank page, through the forest they chop down the trees and recycle our oxygen for just another...blank page. I need your space to confide my tragedies, a slab of clean skin that I can inject my disease. Blank page, I need to fold and burn your body, please. Let me sacrifice your life and free up some...blank space.
I’m talking to you now, blank page. I’m carving my pencil into you now. Erase all the pain I’m burdening today and don’t judge me for the sins I tattoo on your face.
(The Page:)
I am so...so fragile, and they cut me with their scissored hands. Who are they? What are they? They are the society of man. Tape me up and make me complete. They’re nothing, but numbers on a receipt. Tape me up into one piece. I’m wrinkled and torn and adorned with a crease.
Adorned with a crease!
(The Sadist:)
Masochist, bow down to my sadistic ways. I shall submit the hurt and you will savor the pain. Slaves will throb and they will ache for the love to obey. *whispers* Repeat after me...Repeat after me...
(The Page:)
Scribe your ink...violently... upon the blank lines of my paper-folded heart. I was once your love letter, to make your world better, but little miss muffet reopened the scars. Tape me up and make me complete. They’re nothing, but spiders wanting to feed. Tape me up into one piece. The hole-puncher's wounds is the only quality...that’s making us holy.
That’s making us holy!
Soaked up your salty tears, the only friend of mine. Just pray to a messiah that the world will invent in time! The government loves biblical mythology; It keeps the cattle in line! But it remains to be seen if it will stop the machine at the end of their succulent lives! Their planet and brains appear so hollow. In the rapist’s embrace, you might as well SWALLOW! And drink all the guilt and regret from the unresponsive mind of the sex addict! SEX ADDICT! SEX ADDICT!
On their roadside signs they will just devise another hook to lure the calves in with just another book. AND ALL BOOKS ARE JUST ANOTHER MOTHER FUCKING...BLANK PAGE!!!
(The Sadist:)
Through the forest they chop down the trees and recycle our oxygen for just another...blank page. I need to fold and burn your body, please. Let me sacrifice your life and free up some...free up some...blank space.
I’m talking to you now, blank page. I’m carving my scalpel into you now. Erase all the pain I’m burdening today and don’t judge me for the sins I tattoo on your face. YOUR FACE! YOUR FACE! YOUR FACE! YOUR FACE!