Your metal against me,
The cold edge of your weaponry
The manacles, your body’s debris
Against my face like the sand of the desert
Vanquished feelings you banished to dungeons,
But the bludgeoned internalized truth, burning like cyanide, will be a battle unending,
A horrific cry from inside
Be glad when the sun rises,
And light grazes the shadows ignored by your stubborn mind
Do what’s unkind if it means that dubiety will cease,
And fate will tickle my pride,
And tease fleetingly, the right direction,
The next step, the resurrection of cognizance,
For if we let a chance by,
I’m stuck taking steps in the devil’s dance,
I’m welded at stance; wallowing at the willow tree’s cry