Torn

Attracted and driven by atomic hedonism,

but a quiet pious life does not elude my dreams.

Vengeance and ruthlesness sear my though process,

yet ever contemplating love and a gentleness towards humanity.

To chase, embrace and taste Jezebel under the covers of the night sky,

or to wake a family man, swaddled in monogamy, in the security

and routine of responsibility.

Both take risk, both take sacrifice,

one leads to death, another to life.

Desires, vanity, to quench the thirst of lust, hungry for the edge,

but swayed into stability and the easy pleasures of honest structure.

Seeking the thrill of revelry always spirals down into inner pain

and depression.

The highs are fleeting, the repercussions imminent,

sorrow and deep feelings of loss,

the lovely scent of pieces of the past are unable to be grasped.

At times the pain is hard to distinguish from the pleasure.

My generosity only comes from the resources of greed,

Robin Hood, but only robbing myself and the hood that's just as

impoverished as my heart and frame of mind.

Thirsty, as my cup overflows and spills away my last ounce of morality.

Proud of forced humility.

I cradle indecision as i reach for a circumstance that won't leave

wreckage in my rearview.

Right now stares me in the face,

waiting for me to do one thing,

Make a choice!