Dessert In Paradise

Writing

As I prance my way down to the depths of hell I greet the devil with a smile. My dreams and aspirations backfired as I face the repercussions of my illicit actions.

I used to reside in a paradise and find ways to experiment with my emotions and stir them up in cauldrons that resembled the hearts of people who once held me dear.

I felt like I’ve been delaying my dinner date with my demons and the humble pie being served has gone cold.

The truth is I’ve been running around the dinner table, and I’ve been trying to hide away but the scent of the meal is tempting.

I’ve been trapped on an island with my worst memories and the most dreadful terrors that I’ve experienced. They away patiently for me to join them at the dinner table; I don’t know what I’m running away from anymore.

What’s the point in sitting down at this table when I know where I’ll end up in life?

But the real question is: do I really believe I can escape myself? Can I honestly escape the mental prison that I’ve locked myself in? To think that this is paradise is faulty.

If I know that I’m on the fast track to an eternity of torture and flames; do I really care what anyone thinks about me. Do I really need to attempt to be less esoteric, or cynical?

If I’m in paradise trapped in a purgatory like state within my mind.

I see no reason to keep running around this idiotic dinner table.

I’ll pull up a chair and enjoy the few slices of humble pie I’ve let go cold.

It has been far too long since I’ve humbled myself and looked at my actions in review.

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