In Worship

Thrash Inward,

Thrash Outward,

It’s a choice with no options to choose,

Either way, 
Everyone involved leaves feeling abused.

Battered to the point of exhaustion

The breath between bouts reserved for licking our wounds.

But still,

I know I’ll end up thrashing again.

No one gets the intensity of that interior burn,

The soul has adopted a scorched earth policy;

It craves the flames of the thickest rage,

Using fire to cut through the mire that self loathing leaves behind.

Relationships and Loved Ones strewn upon the funeral pyre.

As Sacrifices to the Gods of Self Destruction.