Death and the Mind

There is none but death in the ideas in which we fashion and clothe ourselves.
Their restrictiveness can’t be seen as long as ideas are likened to freedom.
I wear a cloak of death but in my mind I am the son arisen out of the grave.
I am ever new even in this cloak of death.
This cloak of death becomes my mask in which I hide my ugliness, my sexuality, my drug ab(use), my tears and fears.
Restrain, hide, compulsively like a goblin in his cave. Give in to lust in darkness only. This ragged expression of the self. In my minds house I am living freely.
With my feet though every step I take is guided by this insolent creeping, whispering, lulling and lying voice of the damned.
Hide Hide Hide.
Run Run Run.
Fall Fall Fall.
A spear thrown at the heart right at the peak of injustice.
Whence it come from whence it go to?

Express Your-Self