IN FRIGORE VERITAS
by K. Trap JonesEvery man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not;
And often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)
I guess I didn’t have to look at them, but seeing their bloodshot eyes of pure hatred was somehow empowering. It’s funny how sadness differs between each person and the way emotions tell the story upon our faces. They should be angry with me; they should be saddened by what I did, but nothing can be changed. I was a victim of the darkness. Within a weakened state, I had no chance to survive the onslaught from my mind. I see it now; that edge of insanity. The point where I could have turned away, but that knife felt so good within my hand and the anger flowed freely through my blackened heart. The s
