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