For Alessandro Manzetti:
I keep him in the basement. I never let him out. Sometimes he cries, and I let him, because I love him. If I didn’t love him, I would have murdered him already.
I hear him, though. The crying I can tune out but the sounds of his pencil…
The world knows many things, I have made it my duty to prevent us from knowing.
I know I will kill him. He is a writer and he must be killed.
And because I am the one who sheltered him it is right that I be his killer.
But, what I wonder is: what will happen to his writing?
The pencil, and its noise, I fear: does it escape, even after I burn the words?