Sweet Master

Bout- Depression; hopelessness of life; philosophy of death

O sweet master, torture me, into affliction, into flying rage, into subdue so I loose myself,
Into the only truth in life, the crumbling pain,
Lest I live in a world, where truth doesnt dwell.

So, come and smother me, come and subdue me, into deliciously hideous world of pain.
Butter me, splatter me untill I am lost, in pain.

A world of opposites, right is wrong, wrong is right,
Darkness is light, and so is light the darkness in which we dwell?
Pain is pleasure, that I know; but is pleasure painful?
Is elation the time when we are at our lowest?

Darkness is in the light, so when is darkness, ever prevailant,
Onto the countenance, and contour of current catch.
Is this life, or is this death, this darkness through which we stumble,
Do I live when I close mine eyes, when I dream,
Do I not cherish the imitations of death,
Ornamented with dreams of joy, and pleasure.

Am I born yet? Or will I be when I escape this world,
And I stop this superficial existence, is there not a higher world up there?

Where else do I escape, everytime I close mine eyes.
Maybe, life is death, and death the gate of life.

Yearn to be born, yearn to escape this claustrophoic womb,
And I'll fly with thee, in the real world of adorable green, and crystal
Clear skies, then the sweet melodies of the wind shall
Play in my heart and I'l soar higher into true being.
And I yearn for that day, yearn for that time,
Still I ponder, is this life or death?