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.
Copyright ©
Michael Fulkerson
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