The walk with conscience

Walk through dark dungeons

Tripping over tiny pebbles of

Guilt ridden ash, collected

Hardened, over every

Unbearable moment of

Flaming forbidden pleasure.

Every scene. Preserved.

Like wax dolls staring

Into the shadow that

Looms somewhere behind.

Every flicker of the eyelid, every

Throb of the cheek, every

Moment of lewd copulation.

Preserved. Like fruits in

Vinegar. Sour, unpleasant,

Irresistible. Every thrust

A push towards the edge of

Sanity. Every cry, every dig

Of the finger nail on the

Bare back, an iron nail on

The coffin of need. The need.

To blame yourself, the others

The manipulative universe.

It won’t make sense. It can’t

Make sense. Just

Keep walking.

Photo courtesy: deviantart.com