End Of Night - Not all is good at the end of night

Image Credit: Darkattic

Again the Succubus calls, answered by my willing compliance. I grab her by the hand, leading me further down the cluttered path, not to peace. Taking the fake offerings, momentary escapes that are void of relief, at the end of night. Grabbing any Savior, please speak kind to me, sooth my ache and dark thirst. There are no companions in this empty pursuit, I barely make it out alive, who will follow me in my destruction? Holding the works of addiction, I set up a fix that never satisfies, only to do it again and again before the end of night. Many will lead me there, then abandon my desperate body to its agonies of thought. There are no tomorrows in this never land, dreams are abandoned on the altar of deprecation. The birds sing, announcing their joy of morning, spectators that look on, mocking the death of ambition and hope, increasing my dread that comes, at the end of night.  Shake yourself my drugged soul, find your escape and run from the pain that finds you; a great price is paid in the dressings of celebrations that go on until the end of night. Caught again by the arrows of habit, striking me with precision through the errant presumption of safe chambers that open in the end of night. With no deliverance, shackles bind tighter with each twitch of resistance. I lay down hoping for the end of night. To relieve myself of these panicked flights, I seek sleep, now stolen, hidden from my ever reaching mind; yet, I fight, until the end, of night.

Also published in Broowaha Citizen Magazine
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