To the demon of repression,
I must condone to the sins-
of my overbearing ecstasy that liberates
to destroy the reality of my world,
and condemning my knowledge in the truth of delusion.

So if I were to hand you a pamphlet of my injustice,
for the naivete of my surrealism,
would you slit my throat and take my life?
Just for a moment?
Just for a chance of elated haven not bred from your own ignorance?
Could you?
Would you?

Pass me the gun of stupidity,
and you shall deem yourself-
the blood worth only the darkness you live in.

Maybe,
just maybe;
I would be able to lift up the shackles of my insanity
and hand you the serenade of my life.

If I am worth less,
would you bother to kill me?
Tell me-
then so I would be able to befit the title I dread to carry.

Never,
should I doubt what I have,
but-
is it alright to doubt the person I have become?

I am not the person I have hoped to be,
and see no way of escaping the hell I buried myself in.

Don't forgive me,
for I have sinned.