I can’t sleep,
so I write,
not to weep,
but to die,
a little inside,
to crawl from the deep,
hole I dug to meet,
the devil inside,
the unholy meek,
that is me,
filled with fright.
And we talk,
like he’s my best friend,
and he knows things,
like what music I’m into,
and whom I’d like to shag,
yet I know nothing of him,
and he starts to explain,
that he is me,
and I am him,
yet I don’t acknowledge him,
and I am his whole world.
He said:
“there’s enemies we’d rather love,
and friends we’d like to fuck”
and I can’t get it out of my head,
“there’s times when we’d let the world explode,
yet there are moments we do what is right,
and the world is the one with luck,
to have more people do good than bad,
and in time we’ll contaminate the rest,
with goodness and kindness,
and there will be no more pain”
and my soul it started to clench,
“there have been times when your faith has wavered,
and you’ve looked for God on the bottom of the glass,
instead of breathing air, you’re choking on ash,
and to the mirror, the darkness you’ve rendered,
you see your flaws and imperfections,
and think yourself less because of them,
but don’t fret,
you ought to be revered like an anthem,
and lose yourself in awe at the sight of your reflection,
if you do, the dark will surrender,
with time you’ll keep your demons at bay,
remember,
time is the music the planets play.
and I closed my eyes,
I needed to rest,
the revelations were too much to take,
so my body cracked,
and broke,
and flew away,
from the hole I once dug,
and I took with me the other part,
the angel in disguise,
whom smiled at me with ease,
for I wanted to die and he was life,
that clung to me like a disease.
