With the infinitude I teem, & all the resolve that I bred.
A demon, there, that deep despair, at the back of my head.
A whisper to which my soul hangs by a thread.
A demon, there, at the back of my head.
An evil, there, in the folds of my mind.
dissolving myself behind;
into my selfsame hues.
A demon, there, petting my muse
Within the alleys of my brain.
I am not myself again.
That I may or may not know.
I can never rule my glow.
I can never ease my pain.
Bruised by demons in my brain.
There, all petting my sweet muse
into my selfsame hues;
tainting my nature maligned
through the valleys of my mind.
A demon, there, through the fleshy air
at the back of my head.
It seeks my surrender,
to believe him, to deceive him,
to deliver him, to receive him,
to twitch the balance of Life,
to render myself in me dead.
Yet, risen through the tears I shed —
The tears of falsehood distressed dread.
That demon, there, at the back of my head.
That resides to incise me,
to design the demise,
Of my eyes, of my insight to capsize me.
It tempts me, It begs me,
For a false redemption —
An off-guilt exemption.
Of that demon, at the back of my head.
For, when I redeem, I am all dead,
I become all myself can possess.
I become the least of who I am.
Though the least of myself I possess.
Though the more I am, I am naught at all.
To no avail, I bid to be whole.
To be my own expiatory lamb.
& through myself, myself I assess;
Such maligned power I can’t control.
That demon fighting for my soul.
& though an infinite in myself, subsiding.
and in myself, myself residing.
& though with infinitude, I teem.
& the ironclad resolve, I bred.
I can never ,alone, redeem
Myself from the demon, there, at the back of my head.
There, in the lure of my infiniteness,
I can only choose to refuse, to refuse.
To accept my restraint instead —
To pour out myself out of myself into the infiniteness I shed;
Out of the demon, there, at the back of my head.
“Sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou mayest rule over him.” Gen 4:7
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