Inside the Id, who keeps the lid?

You see me in the mirrors, I dwell on the other side.
I’m your nyctophilic voyeur, taking you on a hamartia ride.

I sculpt your insecurities, I cultivate your jealousy,
I feed on your misery, I build your failures and fallacy.

I dance with the darkness, and I embody your worst fears.
I rejoice in your solitude, and drink from your tears.

I’m your first and last embrace, when the night falls.
I’m your silent macabre romance, when the time so calls.

I am pretty silent, and do not do things in force,
I do not possess a form, instead I like to mimic yours …

… Or that of your dreams, and turn them into nightmares
If I happen to sadistically wish to dress you in despairs

I can’t let you roam without me freely
And for this I never let you know me really

During your existence I’ve built a comedic facade
A convenient and very intentional fraud

A literary dramaturgy, a form of sickening whammies.
So now you mythify me, and call me Hades.

I am, in actuality …

Yours Truly


Veles, Mephistopheles.


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