I have learned not to toy with their patience.
This job instills a constant truth and a self-imposed isolation.
Chased and chastised are the souls deemed gatekeepers by halfwits
who never grasp just how shitty this gig truly is.
I've seen people turn on a dime, fellow editors become toxic
if others dare hold you in a higher regard.
You become a monster out of necessity, never from malice.
Honesty is the most feared poison known to creatives,
for it solidifies you as someone willing to burn the fragile soul
to fragments within a second's notice.
I never sought the company of others, let alone the approval
of their opinion. I drink alone for a reason.
Sometimes you meet that one person who stands his ground
at the price of losing everything but his dignity.
My spine is made of sharpened steel, never papier-mâché.
I won't break, but I will damn sure burn anyone down where they stand.
Do not disrespect my borders. These scars didn't get here by accident.
Others paid the price for their ignorance,
and as you may have noticed, I remain where they have vanished.
Don't ever play games with someone beyond your level.
I do not play, and I never miss the mark.
The flames illuminate the night's sky, not as a threat,
but to serve as a reminder.
I exist; therefore, I do not care for your company.
Never test the waters that are far beyond your depth.
Where there is smoke, I assure you there will always remain fire.
JPR, is the editor in chief of The Rye Whiskey Review his work has been published in Fixator Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Disturb The Universe, Horror Sleaze Trash, Schlock Magazine, A Thin Slice Of Anxiety, Piker Press and The Dope Fiend Daily.
His work is often dark and always unfiltered.
