I was a soul in hibernation
The accursed hero of Mere Existence,
Feigning piety and sensibility
When my masochism was only cloaked
But I was a dead spirit:
Numb, emotionless, vapid.
You can imagine, then,
Having experienced death firsthand,
Why I have laid bare all
And sacrificed secrecy for honesty,
Why the truth seethes from every word
And my heart bleeds
With each confession of your bravura.
The pain of unrequited affection
Blasphemes my ego,
But I’ll be damned if I relapse
And let silence kill me again;
At least at the end of this life,
Whether it ends in struggle, solitude,
I’ll know the world sees me as I am
In all my wonders and sins,
And you will have seen my passion,
For better or worse.