Diabolical
Meet me at the crossroads
There are no words to describe your villainy. Contaminated water leads to loss of bodily autonomy. The influence of treachery spreads where evil begets evil. Wickedness breeds more immorality. Sin has no apologies, only reasons. You were a catapult, ushering me headfirst into oblivion. You were simply diabolical. From under the skin comes a wave of kerosene. A hint of destiny lies bleeding at my feet. A devil in disguise. A horned figure without dragon breath. A cloaked specimen here to make a deal. I’m stuck in a limbo-like trance. I hope the earth opens its mouths and devours you entirely. The plague has come to take me away. A swift cleansing of the soul, a heretic rebirth of the senses. A disease of virtuous redemption. Come extract yourselves from persecution and myth. All else is endless cycles of death and comeuppance. I’ll meet you at the crossroads. I’ll make the choice to escape no matter the cost. It’s inconceivable to think we would ever last
About the Creator
Anna Torres
I’m a 37-year old mother. I love reading, metal music, and writing. I have begun writing again since 2021
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She Is Not Here
She fights me. She punishes me. She knows this dependency has gone awry. She is not done with me yet. She has this curse that disembowels me. She is Mania when she is complacent and Depression when she drags me down to subterranean levels. She is the cliff I am pushed off of where I either fly or fall victim again to her devices. She claims victory when she is sated, when blessings have reached required amounts and her hunger quiets. She yells at me, “Ungrateful swine!” She is feral in her ferocious tone when waking up alive is not enough. She knows how my dreams are merely dreamt but never followed. She’s aware of the wishes that were made but never acted upon. She is the fear that allows me to succumb to my subpar mediocrity. She is the untapped potential like an oil rig that remains undiscovered. She claimed we were destined for greater things, not a life trapped in pretend acceptance. She professed that not everyone is meant for historical gain or perfection. She wouldn’t let me change the world. She merely allows me to survive the beast that slumbers inside. She slumbers still. She is the sanity I am not equipped for, an identity lacking any charm or reason. She brings me to shame, I carry this burden full of guilt and inferiority. She blocks me in, I have no say in this misery. She shields me from my own confidence. She makes me unworthy. She casts a shadow over me. She give me my faults but all I have is apathy. She shows no remorse. She is my fury and my sorrow. She gives me her pity. She is stuck in this body we both hate with a mindset from which we cannot escape. She is no cure for the weak and weary. She is no triumph for the sad and needy. She aims for my heart with no caution or mercy. She knows the joke is on her, I have none. She has no more fingers to point, no more excuses to make up. She is simply not enough. She cannot be the best version of herself. She is the shift that persuades the tides. She is the pendulum when her mood sways. She is the flip of a switch when we go from routine to utter chaos. She is me when we attempt to stand tall. She can’t see me for who we truly are, can she even see at all?
By Anna Torresabout a year ago in Poets
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