Will I

I argue with the darkest parts of consciousness

Against the subconscious I cannot win.


But against these looming thoughts

that cast a shadow

on my best intentions

I conjure up my cleverest comebacks

bitterest remarks and swiftest returns

Bleaker years have trained me in retaliation.


You could say it's like arguing with myself.

One side of me sunlight and the other eclipse

Fighting over the meaning of morals and the purpose of truth

A battle of brains


But I see it more as a battle of will.

Both the sun and night sky know what's right

So the question is not what should I do

But will I do it?


So hence this war I face


with the sunrise


My conscious evil is like my physical body

It grows and adapts and wards off the sickness of goodness and truth

That I constantly pump into its veins


No two words ever work the same way,

so my light side has become a philosopher and poet

so accustomed to twisting and turning and finding new words that mean the same things.


Sometimes I scratch out letters on

crumpled receipts with pens that ran dry months ago

to convince my darkness to let light have its way,

just for today.


The dark isn't stupid.

It's not often tricked and cannot be permanently kept under reigns

But words can touch it and change it for minutes on end or soften its glare

like a song


So I keep writing letters addressed to the me of yesterday

The one who I no longer want to be

In hope that the words will fool the dark

long enough

for the light to shine through me

just for the day.