Fiendish wires driven deep into the mind.
Subsisting on the chaos it compels unto others.
Craving lechery and deference.
When resisted the coils tighten.
Its weighted vines make it difficult to stand.
I know what it fears,
We are the same.
The threads are not mine.
If I controlled the them I'd do the same.
We are puppeteers.

Longing
For one of the only things I cannot have
Locked away from me
At least I can be
Three months sober
On March 2nd
Just give me a second
To catch my breath
And stop myself

I see the cord and lock
Thinking maybe if I took a rock
And hit it
It could break open
Unlocking the liquor
Then an image likes to flicker
Reminding me what I said
I made a promise
Not to drink
So I think

For a long time, I think
"I won't take that drink."
But then again,
Something in me,
A fiend,
Wants me not to be cleaned
Wants me to be tainted
To be painted
Like a picture
And plastered

So I argue with said fiend,
"I have been cleaned,"
I say to it,
Trying to reason,
"and I made a promise."
Then the fiend, "But miss,"
"what if t'were but a sip?"
This makes me think
Before I have time to counter,
I look in the mirror and encounter
My reflection
And in it I imagine myself
Holding a bottle
I don't want to touch the throttle
That could lead to that road

I am drowning in my own pain
I have little to nothing to gain
So I respond,
"Fiend, you beseech me;"
"think this is the opportune moment,"
"But I shall make this a restated movement."
So I take the fiend
Hold it in my grasp and stare
Down at it, in this nightmare
I ask it,
"Why, why do you care?"
It is silent,
Takes its turn to stare
And to ask me,
"Why, why do you resist,"
"when something to sooth thy pain sits there?"

I drop said fiend
Taken aback by its counter
So I sit on the bathroom counter
Then think with my eyes closed
How one such as it
Could tempt me so
Busying myself with something to sew
But I cannot be distracted for long
Not with something so strong

Whenst I was tempted last
I revisited something from my past
Let it take control
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Five and no more
Then, when I walked out that door
The tides had turned
Casting be into the waters of guilt
Causing my soul to wilt

"Fiend..."
I called
It was not appalled,
"Yes, miss? What ever plagues thee so?"
A smile upon its face
I reply,
"Old habits I thought I had buried - I tell no lie."
Then,
That little fiend replies,
"But, not the one thou yearned for not long ago."
Thoughts tell me to drop it, let it go
"Nay, not a drop has touched these lips."
The fiend laughs!
"But of course not - but blood loves to seep."
So there I weep
Fiend laughing
Winning in its own, sick and twisted ways
Eventually going to let me choose
What more do I have to lose?

- Jay M
February 26th, 2020

she is
in limbo
when Jumbotron
in Bogata
has sports
and impair
action that
any stampede
rot with
their indecision
on Farc
12 and
the art
of shaving
in locker
room on
field hoy

Meeting the foul faced fiend & foe we call death.
Lurking about looking for souls, a collector in the truest sense.
Mortals can be persistent,pondering away subsistence.
From death breaths life, a rotting coexistence.

There is nothing but bones left
A gorgeous array of decay
The splendor of existence lost
The amusement of resistance

Gandering at the reaper we can  see life, and reflect
We may see many worlds, life in the blink of an eye, right before our death.

Try not to inject your morals for the minds you infect.
Is there ever really a time when there's absolutely nothing left?
In the world of your mind you must be the architect.
the worlds crumbling down. Your mind is yours to *****

There is nothing but bones left
A gorgeous array of decay
The splendor of existence lost
The amusement of resistance


The dead flower has more power than your wilted soul.
My knife has more life to watch death grow.
That broken glass a stones throw. You are Building up a rebels soul.

There is nothing but bones left
A gorgeous array of decay
The splendor of existence lost
The amusement of resistance

Nothing but bones. Such a gorgeous array. The splendor of existence.The amusement of resistance, and the foul faced fiend we call death.
Looking for souls. Morality they say.....
Mortals can be persistent.
pondering away subsistence.

Gandering at death we see life and reflect
Try not to inject your morals, minds you infect.
Is there ever a time when there's nothing left?
In the world of your mind, be the architect.

The dead flower has more power than your wilted soul.
My knife has more life to watch death grow.
That broken glass, stones throw. Building up a rebels soul.