So tell me is this the darkness they speak of so highly?
The abyss into which men have fallen before?
Its warmth comforting yet designed to confuse me.
So sure of itself, it says “here, be the door.”
This illusion of choice feels so certain and vivid.
The snake’s favourite apple rips away at my mind.
I would speak, but this lust is a silent detention
As a venomous love consumes me till it blinds.