Axioms

All that I am,

is not what I have,

but what I wish I was.

Striving to achieve,

what I know I can be,

is why I get back up.

I choose to bleed,

for the things I believe,

else I know I’m not.

Control

I have a new addiction: Control.

My vices dropped to the wayside.

At last, I feel like my own.

I thought drugs as my first love, but now,

they’re a desperate whore.

Ironically, this new found self control

feels bestowed by something more.

Not earned, nor deserved,

but like any addiction:

I’m craving for more.

Senseless

My mind’s gone blind,

blank thoughts and quiet spaces.

This sense of peace isn’t me,

freed from the hum of a restless engine.

Struggling to accept it,

this heaven, like I’ll lose it any second.

and just like that. . . it’s ended.

No Singing

Mouth sown shut for months,

No singing.

No words make it out,

Left weeping.

Life is dimming down,

soul pleading: Believe me.

But then the demon starts speaking:

Now bleeding

and peeling

sinking feeling

blood dripping

beneath me.

I’m finally breathing.

A shame, I no longer feel like singing.

InkBlot

Little black dots in my head

coalesce

can’t suppress

Like a Rorschach test

on the edge

get no rest.

Pages flipping through my head

in a deeper shade of Death.

But it brings out my best,

buried in the depths.

Give me another

inkblot test.

The Three Temptations

The first temptation trips up the most.

Be it the taste of lover’s flesh or freshly baked bread.

Worldly desires is where most souls call home.

The second halts all progress.

Ripped torn flesh, or falling to one’s death.

Fear is a threat, and a promise of worse depths,

leaving many stillborn.

The final temptation, only two overcame,

the rest burnt by its flame.

It turns saints into sinners,

kings become tyrants,

and the righteous turn wretched.

It lies to the mind, telling it it’s always right.

I hope what comes next is pure sublime.

but I’ve yet to reach the starting line.

Acquired Taste

I am an acquired taste

harsh and bitter like liquor;

born to satiate a specific crave.

The kind that burns inside,

like a devoured flame.

I can’t kill the monsters that lurk inside,

but I can reveal their names.

Hearts carved to shreds.

Cold and turned to stone

where Malice resides.

Lungs full of lies, turned black.

The taste of ash chokes life,

leaving Resentment to thrive.

Minds drowned in artificial lights.

What was real and sanctified now synthesized.

Pleasures now derived from a second-hand life,

leaving experiences putrefied.

It’s all by design,

but that taste will be acquired another time.