Another attempt at prose…
Walking down this lonely darkened road, a familiar pathway trodden down upon just a yonder ago. I see the signs that this road held last year, which led me down a future that I’ve made past with, home to battle scars and fear.
Looking closely into the signs I see and ponder, should I let them lead me where I was last, or should I stop to investigate the footprints in the sand. Should I inquire from the only soul in sight, a man that’s tall and dark, yet not dark as night.
Oh this familiar path, it haunts me, so much so that my nights are ever cruel. Every time I trudge along way of the dark, the cold, it mocks me with eerie taunts and I weep with reddened tears aloud.
Drawn in magnetism to the bleak end of the road, drenched in sudden solemn “Turn away”, my conscience calls. But the smog almost reels me in with mysterious songs and I hear the evil snickers of promises of being led to where I unduly belonged.
Alone, cold and reeled into the curious cloud of body made of my fears, with it all, down this path I’ll be led. Down it I shall be taken, even to my death bed. For this path, so cruel yet so close to my skin, has become the reason of my only sin.
Days pass by me, as I wonder my purpose in life, the cause for deeds done and the reasons why I have been alive. Almost scrupulous, near promiscuous, this is wrong I tell myself. I know it is, but where do I stop myself from being thus? When will the past remind me where I must draw the line? Sadly and slowly, I succumb to the emptiness that my heart has come to be. I alone will struggle through the depths of forgiveness, in myself I must find, the deeds of wrong and those of right that have passed with minutes passing. Even with forgiveness unto myself, my mind will not allow me desired sleep tonight.
I trudge along a path of no absolution, a desire that runs deep within. Carnal pleasures resound, these walls mimic its stories, but with depression it has bound me slave to cynicism and narcissism both. Shameful and with due penance by the Lord, I live in fear of judgment at the gates. I loathe the sinner rooted within me with purpose, dragging me to the evils that I possess. Letting the good die, writhing in pain and never in light. Darkness arrives, with determination and deceit. Power fills the senses, leaving the mind marred and broken in tears. The liar lies laden with gold, reaping triumphant jubilation, but alas the truth is buried six feet below. As the last light dies from within, smirks of truths untold lie on irritated lips. Spake it aloud cried my mind, or forever lie unjust, the world spins not on lies but painful lust.