The world drains me, I am left unheard, Temptation trembles, my throat stirs with thirst for blood. I could wage a war on whomever I choose, Split the skull, slit the life, let all lose.
Or turn on myself, devour the last flesh, Drown in the depths where my hungers enmesh. I beg the world — wash the stains I keep, The wolf keeps howling, it will not sleep.
The light exalts the bearer of dark, The heights give praise to the knife grown sharp. Some deny the raising in war’s black room, Some cannot dream of a heart pierced in gloom.
The might of a man still falls to rest, Shackled visions weigh on his chest. Yet all unfolds in the joy of becoming, Waging my wars, awaiting peace coming.
Raunak shukla (INDIA)
submitted by /u/poetic_lad-
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