Deep Down

When I see the darkness, I see the Qliphoth, Each shadow mirrors the fire I’ve crossed. A soul forged where mercy is lost— I rise from Hell with no fear of cost. They say I walk with devils and flame, That I’ve chosen a path of whispers and shame. Yet even in ash, I carved out my name— One grain of light that won’t burn the same. I am not your puppet or pawn or sin, I carry truth where others pretend. What you fear, I hold within— Not broken, but born to transcend. Call me cursed, heretic, flawed, Spit your sermons, preach to your god. But every scar’s a verse I applaud— A hymn written in silence, rough and raw. You think me heartless, think me cold, But I’ve wept more tears than most souls told. Even now, in defiance bold— I still care, though I’ve never been consoled. So hate me, mock me, say I’m insane, But I won’t drown in your shallow disdain. Truth isn’t gentle, it scars like chain— And I wear mine with unflinching disdain. Deep down, I am the storm and the calm, The heretic’s prayer, the serpent’s psalm. Better to burn in truth than live in qualm— Because deep down, I am my own balm.