Strides
I am no saint, don't call me one.
I'm still trying to fight against this immorality that so lay hold on me,
piercing through my skin,
causing chaos within.
Its pleasures I enjoy,
then struggle with my joy.
I made a choice to quit,
but quitting ain't easy.
My eyes have registered these images,
my heart still struggle to abstain.
My body dances to the melodies of its beats,
yet my legs are stagnant.
Giant strides I try to make,
but my feet seem small.
I close my eyes and open them,
and time seem to be on the run.
These images in my head,
these pictures I see,
they look beautiful and enticing.
Entertainment is its name,
its fangs have broken my bones.
I am strongly fighting for my head,
my sanity depends on it.
My sword is blunt from constant fighting,
my armour is blurred and dirty,
the battle field is filled with my spoils,
but I've made no kills yet.
My enemy I fight,
yet it seems like I'm dancing in his web.
Many generals have led this army,
none seem to be worth the title.
This adversary is cunning,
he lurkes behind images,
strikes when it's least expected.
He creates a reality in minds,
this reality only him can bend,
hence the mental struggle.
We fight for our lives while enjoying his banquet,
happy and sad, feeling pleasure and remorse,
A siege laid to our minds.