One dreary midnight,
Ryan Bird gazed
deep
within the foreboding gothic mirror
located in the
north-north-west corner
of his fashionably
darkened
study.
He then spoke his own name
three times.
Then with a foreboding gothic squeak,
a secret passageway
revealed itself from behind
a pallid bust of
Pallas.
“Ryan Bird”
he said to himself
once more.
Fuck, he just loved
the sound of his
own
smarty-pants
voice.
