i told myself i wouldn't do it again but its luxurious cries penetrate my feeble mind the loud tearing of my willpower echoes across me i taste the blissful ignorance of my dying bodie once more
i know better than anyone its bad for me i wouldnt write about it on a public site if i didnt maybe thats what the true meaning of poetry is to escape your problems and thoughts by passing them on
is this going to be who i am? am i going to succumb to the death of my instincts? or will i triumph, will i end my path of self medication Because I won't let another person see the small mistakes I make.
I can cover what makes me look terrible from an outside point of view, but I could also revitalise my strength of mind and willpower. I know what I must do, and my decision is unwavering. Never again will satanic cries torment my spirit, for I am with God.
and his strength will convert my imperfections to glorious details in his light