• Breathing, heavy now.
    Mind focused on the imaginary crimson leaking from my flesh.
    The thought almost exhausts me now
    As I lie here in the pool of my sorrows.
    The part of me human, now sleeps.
    The part of me dreaming of love, happiness and joy
    Is now shoved down into the small container
    That holds all the good that is left.


    My mind wanders to a time
    When the product of a notion of a divine being
    Leads to hundreds upon hundreds burned on the stake.
    Can you imagine how much thought it must’ve taken to contort
    Such a nice and non-egotistical concept into such a revolting thing?
    Can you even comprehend what it feels like to have your flesh crisping
    And shedding as you roast because of supposed necromancy?
    And yes, devoting your life to talk to (and asking things of)
    A- in my opinion, imaginary being is in no way
    Trying to invoke that power for the sake of yourself
    (as a ‘witch’ might).


    I guess that’s all life is.
    Beautiful ideas and the twisted men who contort them.
    I write this now,
    Not under a lamp on a desk in a cozy home,
    But in a cell.
    My cell is not of physical iron bars
    But of the mental boundaries that restrict me.
    It’s a horrible feeling.
    Knowing there’s so much more potential to you,
    And to have only a fraction of that let out...


    I feel that only in sleep can I be happy,
    And only in dreams can I be fully real.


    I wish my mind could forever be a dream.
    Stripped of all morals,
    I suppose it’s safe to say that
    The carnal part of me would be unleashed.
    Humans, after all are animals...
    The only strength that really sets us apart from the rest of them
    Are our minds.
    Without them we are all just animals,
    Left only with instinct and carnal urges