Lives perpetuating unwritten truths.
Minds stagnating unethical beliefs.
Bodies seeking unwanted flesh.
Souls binding unchartered energies.
Unsolicited thoughts of a broken dream.
A sequel of fantasies unseen.
A weary tongue with a sharp eye.
An observer of note, whose desires are known by the universe.
A grotesque tale.
Who are you to live in a world with no pain?
A vivid imagery of immense strain.
Your desires darkened by your decapitating fears.
Where darkness lies and your heart resides.
A violent excursion of immortal sin.
I wrote a story about you before,
Of a man soul searching for a deeper truth.
Pleasures of sin have awakened a dormant creature.
Soul searching to appetize its endless pit.
Thriving in chaos, its only abode.
Remedial tasks to medicate the brokenness of life, being walked over, overlooked and deemed okay.
Cries for help, sighs of despair, lungs fighting for air.
Ill-conceived concepts that a happy face resembles a happy soul.
Quietly dying inside, politely digging up my own grave.
Rose gardens the only evidence of a life well lived.
A life decomposed.
Sin eaters and dementors have no business with me.
For I have transcended pain.
My soul sought after.
I sold my soul.
Do not seek my soul.
Signed: Black Metaphor (Lesego Pasha)