The Oppressors

As I inhale and thread between these paths of solitude, Entities lay stranded ahead, Begging to be noticed in a long standing feud, To latch on and let its poison spread, The First. Appearing noble, exuding black smoke, A boast of satisfaction deepened by desire, Relentless to dominate as pleasures evoke, Smouldering gratitude, engulfed in fire. The Second. Dragging a mountain of emptiness behind, Fortified by durable rusty chains and locks, Sight on rapacity with eyes that are blind, As nothing immaterial shall conquer its thoughts. The Third. Baring contours with a swaying dance, Hypnotising movements blowing kisses of ardour, Exhibits provocatively in carnal trance, Confuses the mind as body follows its order. The Fourth. The Green Cyclops stands tall, ever watching. A poisonous strive to compete, ever haunting. Such spite and discontent, a hunger ever-lasting, Only striking on turned backs, always hunting. The Fifth. A blob, disgusting and vile, Losing all connection to every part of its body, Over-consuming poison by the piles, Riddled in cancer. A diseased and sickly anatomy. The Sixth. A being emitting apathy, Transparent like the wind, as still as a tombstone, It's back the only bed. A captivity. Failure still better than lethargy prone. The Seventh. Violent episodes of never-ending screams, A rampant struggle to be release and unleash havoc, A burning body with blood shot eyes that beam, Transmitting a frenzied rage and a barbarous shock. A I exhale this deep thought escaping isolation, I was subjugated by empowering images so profound, Crestfallen into oblivion of condoned condemnation, As those oppressors are enforced all around.