Soliloquy of the Broken

I am

On the edge of a lecherous ledge,

A sable obsidian sword, named, “Darkness”,

With his sharpness, soothing and soft,

A Double bladed, famished infinite abyss.

Shall I fall?

I am

Upon the bed of destined Death,

With bleeding, black rose petals for decor,

Accompanied, of course, by a numerous nuance,

Of their piercing poisoned thorn.

Shall I sleep?

I am

Hearing a dissonant, delightful song,

Playing despair, devoid of feral or fair,

And the beautied, hateful Love?

Her ribboned rubbish waltzes there.

Shall I dance?

I am

Viewing a menagerie of perilous pathways.

No way of knowing of where each goes,

Lust calls with caressing whispers,

As the shattering silent wind blows.

Shall I follow?

I am

Finding myself, fighting to fail and fall

Into that blackest of blacks, a serene siren’s call,

Lulling me to sleep and dream to drearily dance

With Darkness, Death, Love, Lust, and Pestilence.

Shall I stay?

Their prey,

Their truth,

Their prayers,

And Their wishes too.

I am.