The fog lifts only to the night
The mist clears from in front of my eyes
though I cannot see.
For I am trapped, trapped in a cocoon of fragility
vulnerable for all to see,
blind to rational choices.
The windpipe of breath closes in
causing abject terror to rise above a level beyond fear.
Strangulation of silence surrounding me
accelerating the heights of animated terror
blurring the once serene view.
The immediate future laid out in front of me,
safe but grim,
Immortal, though cold in mind and soul.
Brainwashed in waves of furious emotions,
rippling in, clear as truth,
a foul lifeless premonition
with empty thoughts never raising suspicion.
Living on the edge of nervous foundations
hypnotic to a ritualistic routine.
A follower of a secret-society cult
living in my mind
closing the shutters on life
creeping in secret backdoors to the soul
whispering fairy tales not of this world.
I choose not to listen to my demons
the minions that celebrate death and filth,
along the path towards damnation.
I shall confront the architect who paved the road to my own inferno,
the Emperor that feeds on sorrow.
Though he bares my face,
shares my image,
he is dark, and I am light
I am day, he is night.
The only way to kill this cursed reflection
would bring death upon myself.
That is what the martyr craves,
for me to release myself of life
give myself forever, and be immortalised to the dark.
I will not succumb to this outcome,
though I know as long as my heart beats
the war will never end.
But when it does,
it shall be fate’s will that takes my last breath,
as I rather live with this heavy burden
than lighten my heart prematurely.
My interpretation of the downward spiral towards a mental hell. An out of control feeling, which at one point a choice has to be made; to start climbing back up or let go of the ledge to damnation.