The Rebellion Against Self

Even when melancholia grieves my heart
And the pain drowns my senses
In stinging lashes of anguish;
In frenzied death dances
I choke lifelessly but no more hurt.

The tears no more trip, as I slowly languish.

The remnants of a wrecked world burnt to ashes
Where mutilated dreams imbue the stale air,
Where hopes are hollow and bankrupt of promises
And the gamble of life only harbors fear.

Ghosts of bygone days resurrect—out of debris.
I am haunted but I no more scream.
The shivers no longer run down my spine.

As in unspeakable terror, I freeze.
Where the invaders being clouds, black and grim,
Where the heavens are laden with vaporized brine.

But it no longer rains.

The scars of gangrenous wounds etched on souls
Where truth remains buried in the cemetery of lies,
Where love never walks.

Only abhorrence crawls
And in the ceaseless war
Peace is felled.

Even when every sanctuary burns infernos
And frailty plunges to doom
On the brink of savage wilderness, they loom.

A hunted prey I am, according to caprices
Destined to perish; yet my dreams bloom.
I panic no more or succumb to cowardice.

My armor of rebellion resists every blow!

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