A hunter needs a hobby to keep them sane. Something small that keeps them human no matter how dark the night gets. Most journal about their innermost thoughts. Some delve into research, learning to understand more than just the world of the supernatural. And some blast music louder than speakers can handle. My youngest sister likes to puzzle, assembling the little cardboard pieces the way they were manufactured to be ordered. My brother goes clubbing, among other more elicit activities. My dad resorted to drinking... I buried myself in mastering every weapon I could get my hands on. Maybe it was some twisted desire to fix the cracks in the foundation of my family, but it only deepened those fissures as I put up walls and pushed everyone away. So maybe sanity was never my strong suit... or maybe nobody in this line of business knows how to find sanity at all. Which is why when we find that niche little hobby, we latch on for dear life, fearing how far we may dive over the edge should we lose that little spark of humanity.
signed,
N.S.
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Within this section of Nocturne, I'll be posting my poetry. I don't write in this genre very often, but I occasionally do find inspiration to experiment with different styles and thought this would be a good place to share what I've written. I understand that poetry isn't for everyone. Personally it's not my first choice to read either, but I do enjoy writing it so take that irony as you will.
Thanks and enjoy!
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