My own Hell

The Kept Man


Trapped in hell since that first forgotten kiss now only a blissful memory,
A hell where white is red, and black is love
A place where my eyes sees the walls, the constrictions,
Sees the blood-smeared walls of my own doom,
Where my mind knows that that blood is mine,
That blood is black, like our love…
This hell I live in, is guarded by your silent wishes,
Guarded by your silent prayers, where your silence sounds louder than thunder,
But worst of all, worse than hell itself, would be the glimpses of heaven,
And to know the sword that hangs over that gate.
Myself the marooned stranger in the psychosis of your twisted reality,
The fool, the joker, the dog idly lapping by the river of your denied love
A blister mouthed monk awaiting the coming of my messiah
The recluse trapped in the sickness of his own design
The heart-wrenching fall he himself chose to take…
That forsaken man I still chose to be, to my own demise,
That chosen path that might lead to the sun, or to the burning fires of my own constructed hell…