We are slaves to the shadows of words unspoken.
Slaves to the call of the darker half.
Slaves to the ends of the words spoken, promises unkept, lies told and retold.
We are all slaves to the artifices of our minds, to the whims of our hearts, to the call of our lusts.
We are all slaves for the sake of a false sense security, a falser sense of loyalty, an endless cycle of preservation. A slave of the duality, of the defining battle where two halves of a soul clash, aware of each other, spiteful of one and other, unable to find the better half – all seeking the same sense, false sense of security in the numbing arms of familiarity’s comfort.
Duality is personal. “We” do not matter for the duality of “my” soul, at least not for the darker half.
I am a slave to the limits of my own creation, of life’s imposition, and of my heart’s whim. I am a feral beast in man’s shape, a snake of the honeyed tongue, a berserker in the civilized suit, I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I am fury dammed by the world. I dream of setting it on fire, I want to watch it all burn down, I want to see the rivers of blood I spilled, by my hand, by my whim. Yet I am content in my comfort, compassionate in my smile, a gentleman in my word, honest in my heart, wanting more for the world. I want to watch it all grow into happiness, delight, and peace.
I am a slave to myself, never understanding who the master is, always clashing, an iron fist in a velvet glove, a frail child in an iron beast.