Beauty is skin deep
as if beyond that a hideous beast lurks just waiting to take form
where a habit becomes the creature
a monkey that won't be shook loose no matter how long you stay from it's want
with talons long and dug through sinew to the very substance that makes up the soul
a conscience
a being.
How it's temptation won't be thwarted
like Devils to a Saint
all lies of joy and satisfaction, that even the simple know won't last beyond expense
where cost is borne on Earth as it might be in the here-after if death is not as final as some might hope.
Where I might wander in darkness
or dwell boiling out sweat in a room turned red
whose walls run with the activity that goes on beyond
that I can only know as fantasy, and wish to partake of when my turn comes
for my turn will come
as promised
unless like much else these words are empty
like the devils would wish my life to be without that which they spruik
they the barkers of the unthinkable
of a return to worlds of ago
and even worlds deeper than those I dared to entertain
where they might force me to ruin
to a place not suitable for man
somewhere the end lurks close by
around the next corner
in the next drink
or in an encounter too costly to face.