There is but ONE lewd spirit pervading my soul,
that awakens my inner demons.
Bringing forth madness and despair both inward and out.
A single utterance of words awakens dark thoughts and leads me to commiserate with the depth of darkness amidst the bleakness stirring within my wounded soul.
But what is it that one would do to cease the onslaught of darkness that creeps beneath the layer of purity it seeks to destroy?
A mere, scratch would lead to destruction of the flesh.
A miniscule thought could awaken a fierce fire that would abolish all glimmers of hope;
Burning to a cinder that which have been yearned and longed for, all these years spent sweeping the depths of hell to bury beneath my scarred flesh.
Ah, Yet, I am reminded that there has been always present, a perpetual flash of light that shines in this ever-present darkness… that which calls me back to a place of sanity.
That wounded glimmer that prevails above all and guides me back to it in times of dire need.
No, I must prevail on in this murky dark water, and tread the thick mud of despair that pulls me ever deeper into the funnel of doom and misery.
The tar of abhorrence and destruction sucking me in.
A welcoming sense of apathy and dissidence towards the warm welcoming light that shines on me still.
Pull me back to you oh dark phantasm!
But there it is… also visible in this darkness.
A mere candle that I am drawn to as if a moth amidst the warmth of a summer night.
No.
I shall reside in the darkness still.
Light hath given me no foresight.
Light hath shown me no mercy.
Calm hath not taught me persistence.
It has caused me great pain. Hath taught me to hate and to detest all that persevere through the absence of light.
But, it is there. Visible through the smoke of my hate. Visible yet still through the misty morning of regret.
It provides me no touch of love or warmth, yet gently caresses my dead heart with invisible hands.
What is it then that I must do?
Must I tread onward, marching to the silent beat of a drum... no one can hear?
Why am I chosen to embark on this impossible journey?
Who is it that calls me? Who that I reach for in the nothingness?
Where are you, oh dear figure, cast your light upon me that I may see your face!
I grow so weary for the sweet restfulness of death.
The release of pain from the grip of life teetering on the mountaintop.
I fiend for your grace on the cusp of relief!
Cast down on me your pity and retract your reach from this place, full of pity.
Yet, I see a shape appearing to me.
A smile visible in the haze.
A grin to torture and mock my pain.
I am but a marionette dangling from the thin shrewd thread of life.
Hanging above the nothingness of Abandon.