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There is no other mystery, than the mystery of oneself, relinquishing all hope to that of guilt.

My mistress taketh my life and lead thyself to wrong
feeling painful memories,
trepidations of my past haunting me since I was born.
Images in the womb I seen
never part my brain, it seems.

Following, following, her dreadful cry
cry, mistress, cry
cry, for you have nothing more to extract from me.

I’ve traveled this dirt road, alone
traveling through your evil brain trying to break apart the ties of which you think
I don’t need your hurt and sorrow in order to move on.

So mistress, here my voice unlocking your mind
please let me in this last time
drop all that you’re doing, drop it now
don’t hurt another man.

Take a bow.

Categories: Poetry
Tags: #Life

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