Just being, breathing, seething.
Languid as I recollect the tortures,
I gloss over the pain.
A frantic realization of truth gone wrong.
I beckon the clarity that goes to show.
I am weak.
I am trembling.
Twisted with shame.
Unable to loosen the hold I have gained.
With ribbons of fear adorning my lust.
Taking from the passage what I see to be.
Learning to fall easily,
Without circumstance.
But filling my mind with constant question.
And touching what little faith remains,
My soul reflects,
But, I am missing the taste.
And longing to relapse.
Perhaps I am melting,
Slowly away.
Sometimes I am nothing,
Sometimes I stay.
Broken.
Wasted.
Led astray.
Towards what comfort I know.
To further what still I do not know.
Martyred,
By this honest decay.