This vision lies before me
The urge to murder the soul
This foreign entity
A stranger inescapable
A face so unfamiliar
Yet shown in every wayward smile
Behold the lord of the flies:
The impulse swarming in my chest
Undulate inconsistently
Wavering sporadically to no resolve
The fate laid out before me slipping away ephemeral, tentative
I am not the author of my wayward dreams
Save mercy for the guilty
Ever-present help in my time of need
The Accuser will acquit me
I hurl my curses to you
Yet find them damning me
The mirror image that taunts me
The scathing spite that I know
Cancerous contaminant
Ravaging my righteous soul
Despite antipathy,
I see now my dependence
Though I invite your overthrow
I don't beckon your severance
Your audience gives me comfort
That my will has been undermined
If my charity has been usurped
Then damn forgiveness; I'm justified
I am not the author of my wayward dreams
Save mercy for the guilty
I’ll call upon the universal scapegoat
Ever-present help in my time of need
The Accuser, will acquit me
I’ll wear my shame underneath a lambskin
You are the embodiment
of all my avarice
Archetype of my resentment
You are malevolence in me
“Incarnation is a myth” [1]
[1] Youssef Ziedan, Azazeel (London: Atlantic Books, 2009) translated by Jonathan Wright, 302.