there are some nights where i lose control,
my id taking over.
i silently creep back to my fantasies
covering my trail behind me as i sneak in and out of them.
they make me nauseous and always end with god dragging me away,
leaving claw marks as i go.
yet i always return to continue the cycle.
there is the question as to why
and i pretend not to know the answer.
in reality it is the nostalgia of trauma,
a sick aftermath of yearning that the label never warns about.
destruction disguised as coping.
i fear that one day i must atone for my sins
but how, i am unsure.
is there such thing as karma?
and if so,
do my well-meaning intentions actually mean anything?
or is there just chance,
the domino effect consequences for my actions
that i must pray do not catch up to me.
i want to be better,
though to a spectator it may not seem so.
the nights i lose control are followed by ones i spend on my knees
begging for forgiveness from: what?
a world that doesn't care?
a world that does?
does the difference matter?
yet i ask anyway,
i plead and cry
riding on the insistence that "yes, i am a good person."
i have suffered,
i have lost,
do i not deserve a pass?
the world, or rather my own mind, replies by saying:
"you have no right to hurt others,
only yourself."
to this i can only agree,
so i must ask myself again:
why,
why do i return when i know the liability of my deeds?
well there is a shame,
a deep, creeping shame that i carry with me,
that i will carry for the rest of my life.
birthed from years of looking for a solution and thinking i've found one,
only to reveal it was the problem all along.
it is the son of a bigger monster that has loomed over me since i was a child,
the boogeyman under my bed.
are they responsible too,
or is it all on me for giving into their demanding promises?
i hope for every time to be the last,
but it never is.
i realize that i must talk to heal
and that there is only festering in confinement.
but deep inside me the monsters keep my tongue tied with a rope named guilt.
there are things i never dare say out loud because of it,
but i also know there are things i must.
i search for a place to scream them.
i expect no mercy from my listeners, just quiet aid.
there is no way of erasing my past,
despite how much i wish there was.
there is only the chance that i may be able to change my future.
