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The darkness eats my heart,
It fills it with the silky, inky lust,
Constricting my thoughts,
Overpowering my desires,
Restricting my free will,
Possessing my thoughts.

Powerless,
Its arms enwrap me,
I feel it’s rapture, it’s longing,
Deep within, I relent,
Giving way to its orders,
Preparing for my madness.

Drink the poison,
Else others will suffer,
They have in death,
The monster that dwells,
It screams to be fed,
In death it will end.

Yours,
Saddness

Gerald Harcroft lifted his eyes from the papers he had been reading. Clearly annoyed that he had been disturbed. “Does no one knock?”

“My apologies, sir. This looks important.”

Hesitating, Gerald grabs the paper from the staff writer’s shaking hand. ”What is it?”

“A poem, sir.”

“Why are you wasting my time with this?”

“The way it’s written and signed. Could it be…”

“Let me read it.”

Once Gerald had read the poem, he let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair. 

“Sir, should we alert Inspector McTavish?”

“No. Not until we can confirm that it is authentic. There are many nutters out there who could have done this.” 

“How will we do that?”

“Is there an envelope?”

The staff writer digs into his pocket and pulls out a torn envelope. He hands it to Gerald. Gerald turns the envelope over and looks inside. 

“There is no postmark. Was it hand-delivered?”

“No, sir. It was found just inside the front door this morning. Someone must have slid it under.”

“Damn. That’s unfortunate.”

Gerald stares at the paper longer, feeling the words where they were written, smelling them. 

“Hmmm, I wonder what this was typed on? The typing pool, do they all have the same machine?”

“No, sir. It’s a bit of a hodgepodge.”

“Good. Have everyone write a message and bring it back to me so we can compare. Also, have them type what brand their typewriter is.”

“Yes, sir.” The staff writer quickly left Gerald’s office.

Gerald continued to stare at the paper and smelled it again. “What is that smell? Lavender? Rose? It’s an odd floral smell. Could a man have taken the paper from a woman’s supply? Why would they do that?

Twenty minutes later, the staff writer returned with a pile of typed papers. Gerald spread them out on his desk and very carefully studied them and compared each to the poem. 

“Huh. It looks closest to the Remington. I’d say identical.”

“What should we do now, sir?”

Gerald grabbed a form from his desk and wrote out a paragraph. 

“This. Put this in the classified ads.”

The staff writer looked at it, then read it back to Gerald.

“If you are indeed sadness. Tell us what is eating your heart.”

“I want it in tomorrow’s edition. If they want to respond, they will need to come in to have a clerk receive their response.”
“If they don’t respond?”

“Then we will pass this on to the Inspector.”