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
for the light to shine through me
just for the day.