I do not fear beasts
from the realms of
your imagination,
their fangs are
only as sharp
as your pen.
Beauty knows
how to terrorise
a man’s soul far more
then your dark demons can.
So write your toxic
depraved poetry of stench
and decaying corpses
but take heed, beware
angels with blond hair.
Do you write of self harm
and bleed your emotions
on to the page,
in tales of rape and abuse
of how you were torn?
Are you dead on the
inside unable to love
or be loved? Do you
relive your pain in poetry?
Pen, paper, pain
over and over
thoughts get
Deeper, darker more profane:
are you insane?
Dark deeds are not written but done.
Do you want me to write
of blood boiling rage?
Alas, my thoughts are cold
my demons caged,
along with my morality
and my compassion.
I am logical not emotional
emotions are toys.
Come, play with me?
Not in this pretend darkness
but in the cold light of day,
why do you hide from reality?
The darkness you seek is death:
I can give it to you?
“Let me be your saviour”
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