HUMAN NATURE

i've often been told that my eyes speak volumes
and all the thoughts and emotions that wander, at times aimlessly,
through the dimly lit corridors of my spirit self
are written plainly within for those with the ability to translate them
from whatever ancient language is spoken by the soul.

i fear those sensitives, those empaths who are privy
to that which i, by no willing intention, telegraph.
i've a monstrous part of me that sleeps in the deepest recesses
of the den that is my heart,
a snarling, rabid beast,
epic in proportion,
that creeps forward from its iniquitous home
when my baser and more wrathful passions burn brightest,
and it is no small task to keep caged within me
this vengeful incarnation, this worshiper of malevolence.

at day's end, i lay upon the lonely stretch of my bed
sweat soaked, heaving, teeth clenched against the banshee like screams
that fill my chords to the brim,
and my eyes, o curtain less panes of tempered glass that they are,
are shut,
i dare not risk that by some mischance
a sensitive might look upon them.

no, to peer into my eyes,
in the nighttime hours when the struggle within me is at its fiercest,
is to lose that which has perpetuated humanity,
faith would be lost to the sensitive,
for no reader of the nature of man,
could hold onto hope once the malignant spawn that festers inside of me
was revealed to them,
and they would fall un-hesitantly into the bleak waters
of the river despair.