There is this monster rationing my entire entity – with me.
He undoes every barrier and enters enclosures without qualm
From my view to my intuition, from my earshot to my chatter.
He’s with me every now and then and never ever retires.
Each time I dominate, I feel complacent – my heroism surmounts.
And the euphoria of triumph allots peace to my psyche.
Nevertheless, I fall eventually and get trampled upon,
Like wine grapes crushed under the feet of ancient stomppers.
Extended derision prevails as my bravery agrees to be quelled.
Oh, how I despise the echoe of his outrageous shriek,
As I suffer by the accomplished evil deed which I abhor,
And as I get whisked by remorse to an unpleasant secrecy,
Or get chastised by ordinance that rectifies my misguided path.
I have schemes to rest on the throne of my life as lord.
With the villain under my feet and my sceptre on his awful horns.
To amuse myself with the scenery of him – vulnerable and miserable,
Imploring to be let go, willing to relinquish his monstrous strength.
But I hear this tiny voice saying something continually till it’s superfluous
Notifying me that I’m the monster, battling with my decent essence.
© Florence Ezekafor