Monster- Not I

pay no respects and weep no more for the fallen among us

the beasts of old, of deceptive disguise and serpent lies

whose greed and desire sought to bring you down so low

beyond the eyes, see their disguise, under blood-red skies

driven by want and lust, fuelled by untampered surges

roam they did, through the dirt and the mire, inglorious

bastardised conscience, contemptible duplicitous charmless

stalking without a care, without a thought, without care

dragging the dirt through the sacred of places,

for I was once of their kin, and partook in their evil din

sin, yes, sin and beyond that so much more, poisoned acts

*

stamped with the mark of the one who lies, in wait, twixt

the absurdity and dissonance from despair to repugnancy

no rest, the wicked sit in the mire of their own creation

trapped in the cascading poisoned falls of Ophthalmophobia

as the darkness shrouds the light, I too feel Scrupulosity

what makes monster? the hidden man, the veil of restrained

nightmares are borne of something, deep, dark, delicious

for some, not all, but I, yes, I - remain blemished, all

all can see, taste the bitter acidity, acrid a crudités

wait. the mirror. I remember. The mirror confides I recall

*

Beholding the monsters are to the darkness, shunning light

the light that brings the truth to the fold, for shame

I, of flesh and bone, my past it haunts and stalks me

brittles my heart, my soul, wanders with me at night

reminds me when the abyss of twilight shines above

so too the hauntings remain, despite the shutters

never escaping the bonds of broken trust/promises

look upon thee, behind thy eyes, the monster lies

with a ravishing appetite for destruction and pain

*

they like the idea, the others, of fighting demons

the vile and blackened hearted, of horns and fangs

when creatures are indistinguishable from the ordinary

war is difficult. when the smile of the traitor, is of man

beasts, for their part, are easy - problems are killed off

forgiveness unnecessary. We, the real monsters, the dirt

harder to face, harder to accept, when we turn our backs

on the corrupt and debased.

*

frustrated machinations of our guilt-driven heart, repugnant

repentance, not just a clipboard formality

vanquishing the internal, the cost is great, the truth is blood

blood, pain, fear and suffering.

monsters, of old and fanciful, thrive - not I

not us, the lowest rung, the fallen, those given to seduction

by lust, greed and ecstasy.

*

baring flesh, baring heart, the pumping arteries, exposed tissue

shedding skin, drilling burr holes into the god-damn noise

tempering the storm within - humbling myself before the wronged

accepting the sentence, the justice given

draining the septic tank, cauterizing the infected parts

the truth - a salve for the seared conscience, my own

*

many the fallen who remain the self-venerated harbingers

of their own demise, of shameful acts of unchecked malevolence

both subtle and gratuitous, both deplorable and forgivable

if, their strength was real and not a fallacy

sirens they send to tempt me, stand firm I must

*

solitude is never safe, this I now know

there is no saviour in isolation

life hurts, love more

let it burn-for all to see

*

remember, oh how I do

the pain, the misery

in spite of the lurid joy

*

my teacher, my betrayal

my guide, my sin

*

stripped bare and powerless - the monster, not I

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: This is for Novel Allen's Savages Kafkaesque challenge, which you can find out more about below.