Other The Demon of Self

[Malphaestus]

- READER BEWARE -
This work contains topics which some may find gravely unpleasant. If you cannot safely consume literature or written works regarding mental health issues, then I recommend you ignore what I have written below and go about your day as best you can.

The birth of this work I have written was an outlet for me, and I decided to share it; thus not meant to incite anything, or urge anyone to do anything which could harm.


---

The Demon of Self

Here I am, on the precipice of self-annihilation,
Precipitation filling my immediate situation.
My head held high, brimming with satisfaction,
All I wish for is a seat in a mansion, so I can look on the resulting chain reaction:
Radiation enough to hospitalize an entire nation.
Nigh is the time of night where crows die and the mind flies-
In vain: no need for reason; who could answer if not the demon of treason?

Here I am, my brain twained by my inane mind-drain;
Thoughts profane mix with the humane to cause great migraine.
Never again will I know the peace I have slain on my campaign to escape the insane;
Bloodstained is the truth I have obtained, contained: it races around my mind unrestrained.
I have trained for weeks, years, or maybe even months- I don't know anymore, it sort of just finds -
A way to unwind itself in my kind: the type who align themselves with the maligned.

It lacks name so I decided to rhyme, an attempt to describe the pain I see in humankind,
A cocaine of the mind: it soothes the senses, frees your eyes: we're going clockwise;
An idea of pain, one you cannot criticize, comprising all the devils inside.
Slip-slide, drip, now you're in: a violin playing, a demon saying: "Fiddle me this- I mean riddle-"
"We're in your mind, but who am I? A mind's sigh, the last cry? A bittersweet bye? A good guy?"
"I'm the third eye; a view of yourself you can never find, a great tide," he snarked, "evil personified."

"I am the thought that frustrates your mind; the distraught you cannot escape, cannot beautify; the emperor butterfly,"
"Flying so high, a dreadnought of the sky; I reign uncontained deep-down below ground in the terrain you cannot ascertain."
"In a diadem of pain I am crowned; a femme fatale, one you try to hide but cannot help but mine; a mineral of your state of mind."
Never again, you explain to the demon's disdain. They dredged, your mind's etched, "what's a pledge balanced on a knife's edge?"
You acknowledged, flooded with images you dare not confess, the demon privy to your thoughts' darkest secrets;
An upside-down tree of accursed knowledge, one that grows at the demon's whim;
All of this a pseudonym, the demon's within; a synonym. One we grapple with at the gym,
In the mirror 'it' is stained, in the wardrobe whilst you change: one you cannot cover up again.
Find it once, find it twice, find it over a hundred times; it reads you between the lines.
An enzyme of the mind most sublime; a negativity most refined, something you cannot leave behind. A part of mankind.

Bittersweet, you admit, as you contemplate the viscosity of reinforced concrete,
Reminding you that you're a cheat full of deceit, the thought upsetting your very heartbeat.
Some things you can never take back, can never change, a thought you crossed thanks to the balkan mountain range.
The evil you have done can never be fixed by anyone: this megaton-yield of pain, you explain, is the just cost for the rain you have wrought;
Drenched we was but, what would happen if there were some megawatts? Brought to you by the gordian knot;
Split at midship as I bit my lip bit by bit, unwounded it in my mind as I tried to escape my sorry state,
The same brainscape from night to day, and to your dismay the contemplation seeps everywhere like radioactive decay,
These shadows are everywhere, an amorphous shape; a bridge to grey, a haunting display; a morality play in papier-mache across a cerebral highway;
A Green Bay foul play, a third-down blurred into a fourth-down fail across a raceway at doomsday;
It's a neural D-Day, a sundown; it is the gateway into my nervous breakdown.

Here I am, on the precipice of self-annihilation:
My fixation for devastation the likely cause of my present situation.
I admit, I am 'it;' a book of my own creation, of pain, to whom this oration I attribute;
My creativity fueled by the pain I accrue; my forbidden fruit, the thing in which there is no substitute;
The scars I wear: my golden parachute; The pain I feel I redistribute, to make art with gracious attitude.​

 

[Crazy Trey-n]

this is incredible, and it's very interesting that it can be read in a solemn tone just as easily as it can be read like slam poetry in written form

 

[Malphaestus]

this is incredible, and it's very interesting that it can be read in a solemn tone just as easily as it can be read like slam poetry in written form

It was originally intended to be slam poetic; but I decided to mix up the tonal differences the further on I went.

 

[Malphaestus]

My mind makes so much strange, never would I believe; but it feels so real, it's an outrage.
And for every attempt made to persuade myself to not fail my dreams I evade,
Now I lie here jaded, my gaze to the skies, the glimmering shimmering within my very eyes,
A beauty beyond any soul, a belle so breathtaking, yet I cannot help my gaze from fading,
No matter my attempts of persuading myself, all it ends up being is self-degrading,
I can feel the very strength in my muscles failing, nerves straining.

My mind is waining.

The task, no matter how small, is too tall, the weight of the world will make me fall.
A downtrodden chap, no Atlas, just sodden.
No matter how much I train the strain is too great for my rotten mindset, I'm out of balance.

My view of the world is screwed, drowned beneath an allegoric deluge of sadness I'm consumed.
All I'd manage would be a perfect rendition "Atlantis," something actually historic,
What I speak of does not align with the classification "histrionic,"
Merely the limitless rambling of a man on the edge of madness, my issue's chronic.
Somewhat demonic, but I will never fall to his sardonic moniker.​

 

[Malphaestus]

I wake up every day draining,
"Am I still me," I keep exclaiming,
The worry within me does not cease,
When will it find it's release,
When will the day come where my pain is gone?

But my rights remain wrong,
The pain I've caused is lifelong,
The guilt I feel belongs.
Yet my mind remains strong?

Am I worthy to carry on?
I cannot help but dwell,
On the ruckus I've spelt,
It tears me apart, to know how you've gone,
I'm far-gone, I was so drawn,
The words you gifted me were my dawn,
For you I would be anyone's pawn,
To think something so little would spawn,
Now all we had, begone.

I must carry-on,
For both of us I have kept-on,
But for how long should I keep-on?
Is this torture it's own justice?
I remain depressed,
My identity under threat,
There's no actual outlet,
Existential stress,
My psyche under duress,
I find little rest,
My demon's well-dressed,
He speaks his best.

It is a bit gross to confess,
But with you as witness,
I attest to my darkness,
I would ask for forgiveness if,
You hadn't already offered it.

What is there to forgive,
I am me, all I deserve is forget.
I am under siege,
My senses deceived,
By a condition I could not perceive,
Until it was already time to grieve,
It's impossible to relieve.

We've done our best,
It's time for rest,
Please remain blessed,
You do not deserve to wrest with the pain I have set,
With me you have no debt,
I wanted too much to start with.​