When I hold a knife,
There is this demon inside
That places these thoughts —
One simple lunge,
I can take a life.
Or I could simply fall over,
Let it plunge into me.
It wouldn’t be that hard —
I’m a pushover.
Or perhaps when I am driving,
I could turn the wheel sideways
Into oncoming traffic.
Then it’d make the evening news.
These people I see
Through their windows and mirrors
Have no idea
That I’m so conniving.
The demon jolts its head
From side to side,
Giving the impression
That it has some insight.
But I must confess,
When I look in its eyes
And I dwell on its voice,
There’s something inside me
That’d rather be dead.
These evils inside me,
Tempt me and haunt me.
While I would never give in — I think,
The question always lingers,
“Who am I truly?”
“You’re useless, breathless,
Thoughtless, reckless,
Treacherous, a temptress.
You’re gay, you’re straight,
You’re queer, genderless,
Amorphous and fake,
Tame, and always the same.
A radical, conservative,
Nah, a progressive, a communist,
A revolutionary… cog in a wheel,
The worst there has ever been,
The best no one will ever see,
Sightless, mindless,
Inspired, your holiness.”
There is something intriguing
About being the true me,
But what most people don’t know
Is I am more what I hide
Than what I show.
They do not know
That these thoughts that plague me
Are so terribly fatiguing.
Who am I?
Am I my thoughts
Or my actions?
Am I the authenticity
Or my inhibitions?
Am I the things that are stable,
Or am I the things that change me?
Am I the truth,
Or am I the lie?
“Alien invader,
You seem to get to me
With a flick of your finger,
The world crumbles beneath me.
Perhaps this is some proof,
That you are a trusted source.
If you tell me,
I will believe you,
Am I destined for greatness,
Or should I try again later?”
“You’re a whore, a cheat,
A god, superhuman.
You can do anything,
Yet you have done nothing.
You’re an angel without wings,
A waste of air, a waste of space.
Though, us aliens need you
For the resources you produce,
Give us the life we need.
Down to a science,
We domesticate you.
The world is sick,
but that is no accident.
Your minds and their sins,
We cultivate like wheat.”