A Conversation With Not-Myself.


Your mouth moves, moves along with mine
I make you believe we’re muted mystics with meticulous minds
You know you know nothing
And I say we’ll know nothing if we don’t let go of everything
And you say ‘everything for me is not everything for you’
And I ask, so what is everything? And you stumble
I’ve got you where I want you.
That expensive wine consumes you
Consults you and commits to you.
Sip some more, my 6 o’clock appointment , so you can zone out and on to a seat of stars
Sit with me and see your every single sin serenade your silver spooned soul.

Look how Subconscious, Conscience, Saint, Satan… I forget which name it goes by now,
But, look how it readily places your every sin onto the conveyor belt before you.
I have it written here, that you tasted the sweetness of honey, but tried more than the taster size, so technically that’s stealing.


Here’s the time you studied your first book and fell in love with Juliet, another man’s woman,
even though you were experiencing puppy love with your first ever girlfriend.
I’d say that’s there for cheating.


Do you remember that sin, where you ate into Eve’s apple and you became shameless?
She made you feel wanted, made you feel. She bit your lip and you bit the curve below her hip. You just loved her, loved her so deep it hurt.
Where’s the harm in that, you ask? Where’s the harm in that? Your foolish cry and your brutish wry turned your virgin Mary into a morish monster with a Venetian vernacular. Even I know that.


Here’s the promise you told a Noah that you’ll be there for him whenever he needs you, but when you found friends to watch film noir with you, Noah was no longer new to you.
You quickly forgot that old promise, didn’t you? It’s okay, I see that come up quite often.


There’s the time you told a Sufi that you have the same zest for learning as he, but you just spent your petty days saving up for your fare to Sodom. I think you should have got away with that. It sounds like you had noble intentions.


You told yourself you know what you’re doing but you don’t have a clue. You told yourself you believe in One but you ploughed through so many theories. You told yourself you want to be free but you’re still happily shackled to the greed.
I’m going to put that down as lying.


You doubted your strengths, you doubted your dreams so you aimed to be just below majestic. That’s injustice. And stupid. The only thing you weak clay things can do to escape this rotten world is dream; and you stop yourself from doing that.


You left the ones you love to be in love with yourself. Apparently that’s Lust. I don’t see the big deal with Lust. It consumes you with the same ecstasy a god can give you. But, I don’t make the rules.


And now my favourite sin,
You calmed your soul by telling her everything happens for a reason and now that you’re six feet under clouds your soul asks, ‘What is the reason? I’ve been waiting so long.’


Your muted mysticism has no answer. Well look at you, The Great Pretender.


Your conveyor belt of sins doesn’t stop.
Don’t be afraid, it’s not the first time that’s happened, I’ll just be a little late for my 7 o’clock.
I’d carry on showing you your haughtiness whilst sitting on these stars, but the skies are finding it hard to hold all your faults, you see, and frankly I’m not being paid enough for this.

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A Conversation With Not-Myself.

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