Ironic Reprieve
By From_Ashes
I can still feel your venom coursing through my veins
The irony is that this poison kills the pain
For what's beyond this threshold, be it dark or ether
What can be worse, when in a hole, than to dig deeper?
My face against the glass
This inner circle of demise
They say, "This too, shall pass"
A shroud of truth that's cloaked in lies
This road I trudge along
I truly want to safely cross
Then why does it seem wrong?
Without this vice I'm still mourning it's loss
Silence can be deafening, but why does it feel thick?
I guess wading through quicksand will have to do the trick
They say that recovery is a daily reprieve
But not tasting the apple's punishment to me
My face against the glass
This inner circle of demise
They say, "This too, shall pass"
A shroud of truth that's cloaked in lies
This road I trudge along
I truly want to safely cross
Then why does it seem wrong?
Without this vice I'm still mourning it's loss
Sensory overload
So beautifully numbing
Can't do this, I should go
No longer succumbing
White knuckles, shaky hands
What do you want from me?
"For just your soul, here's a chance
To fulfill the prophecy"
Comments on "Ironic Reprieve"
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On Wednesday, September 12, 2018, Dilated View
(582) wrote:
An interesting read, though the tag lines have me kind of scratching my head. There must be a sex prophecy I am unaware of. Regardless, I thought the read itself was done well. Write on :)
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On Thursday, September 13, 2018, From_Ashes
(13) wrote:
Thanks for the comment! As for the "prophecy", it's less about sex itself and more about my addictive response to sex and the inevitable demise of my soul in the case of relapse. Addict is as addict does, so to speak. So the whispers I hear of "oh he'll go right back to it", or "he'll never stay on track" are more the prophecy that will be fulfilled should I indulge in my demonic play with my "drug of choice".