Paralysis / by The Black Lex Luthor

There are things that eat at you. Things that strip away your soul, bit by terrified bit, swallowing it piece by delightful piece. These issues wait for times of weakness, where we feel lost and uncentered. This is when they do the most damage. It's not like we can do anything. We've already primed our lives for the killing stroke: we can only but await the agony that comes with it.

I allow myself to lose a battle that should already have been won. I follow the weak routes of life and gather the softness that cripples me little by little, smoothing the rough edges of my soul that were never meant to be tempered. I am killing my desires, crushing my soul. Bleeding it dry, as the greatest enemy I have ever known. I am living on my knees.

I see men that have taken life and made it but a toy. They revel in it and make it obey them, or so it seems. So it looks. I can't understand the madness as it is, yet they have somehow done much more than I can. They have conquered something and claimed ownership. I find myself becoming a coward.

I am beckoned to a place of majesty, a kingship, that cannot be granted to anyone. It must be snatched or taken. I must prove that I am the one that deserves such glory. I must make this life mine and shape it so that it defines my dreams.

May God see me through. I need His strength to conquer this personalized paralysis. It's a blight, a sickening darkness that clouds my mind and casts a shade over the light in my soul.