Unwavering sleep, which I forge out of depths of my own hell
Gingerly lies, to all but self. Putrid kennel,
‘Dare I join the beasts?’ Is but a question to all whose hearts, it beats
Tender night, to veil my love for the blossom of day
I hate the frost, late dawn, though my one true dark love can stay
Junkie veins… like roots of a great mahogany, turned lumbered, freshly processed
Imbibed into my psyche
Conveniently sized, covertly despised, effective in none, but only all.
My conscious, compromised
And so, with fleeting feet of terror I make for a last escape
Slithering out of its grasp on me, the church bells tell of relinquishing
This rotten mind you gave me, formless shape
Of dreams forgotten and life lost
The sky is forever blue and knows no dismal accost
Unlike you;
I have cursed you, murdered you, for you to bud again
Through cracks of permafrost, you plunge
Like a horrid sickle with its razor edge
Wretched infliction, you’ve bound me to this ledge
Now there’s days in which I gaze upon a white sky
It tells me the seemingly permanent is merely illusory
You remain conquerable, however sly
Michelangelo’s calloused hands are that of mine
My work’s cut out for me. I am an artist
You are my art. Despite my hate for you, I fall apart
In only the most convenient of ways
You sick addiction, you are my endless maze