Sometimes when the soft whisper of night lingers too long, and I have time to let my demons drive me, I think that all there is left is to let the dangerous rhythms lead me. I’m a zombie with a willing smile, a shell ready to let self destructive pattern push me down a dark endless tunnel.
I have delusions; I think I am a good man, compassionate, loving but life has a way of flattening me down, of melting what I could be into mush. The light is shuttered out, and the dark grey of a life that I could have, of pain accepted, of resignation to be endured.
I’m slowly drifting into that corner, where shackles are my reward, where all I had and cherished, loved, has been destroyed and the way forward has no way back. But yet I hesitate. I am more than this, I can be more than this. I can not lay in the dimming evening with soft living death engulfing my flame. And once more I can almost taste the last vestiges of something better.
But still the voices peck away, they try to pull me back down, gnawing at my soul, selling sweet surrender as my only choice. But I hold steady. I’ve been here before and I slid again, I fell backwards and dropped feather light but dangerously towards destruction. This time I keep moving up, I keep that point of light in sight. But when all is said and done, I am only human.
johndrhodesauthor 