The Egos That Abort Our Miracles Before They’re Conceived

Smoke hand

You are my hollow,
My nightmare;
The perpetual fuck-up,
Threatening with each misstep
To rip apart the firmament
Partitioning my reason from devastation,
So that I will spiral into self-destruction,
Providing you the excuse you need
To vindicate your poor decisions,
Chosen not from peer pressure,
But simply because you’re weak.
Fear grips you, asphyxiating your mind,
Triggering emotions too powerful to stifle,
So you give yourself to carnality,
Yielding to base desires to escape.
You smash every mirror
In your toxic corridors
So you’ll never have to face yourself
And the offenses that have transformed you
Into this strung-out ascetic,
Prescribing ineffectual punishment to atone;
And the rage—
This rage has grown beyond you,
Parasitic and soul-sucking,
And has deformed my psyche,
Inducing fits of insufferable self-deprecation.
It’s a chain reaction,
One you are aware of but are content to ignore
As long as you can numb your pain
And forget what you’ve caused to others;
But god as my witness,
I will not succumb to this blackness,
Dragged down by envy and despair.
You have become hollow,
And I will not be your victim,
And when at last you realize your folly—
Because no one escapes life—
I promise you I will not be there.
he light beckons, and with or without you
I will answer,
And leave you in the dark, if I must.


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