Your Subconscious Choir

Like the lethal dusty cobra, darling, shed your skin.
Find shelter in its absence; let your mortal heart begin
To remove from your digestion, remove from your control,
All the millions of leeches who are feeding off your soul.

Writhing, bleeding, stretching, as you clench your insides tight,
Exhaustion and infection as your face turns ghostly white.
Repulsion is the image as you retch from the sensations;
Leave behind the past and complete your transformation.

The voice inside your head, scratching deep behind your eyes;
A voice that's harsh but plausible, a voice that you despise.
Its singing out in harmony, perfection in its note,
As it slowly starts to sink itself inside your bleeding throat.

Don't listen to its melody, sing back in loud, strong verse,
And tell it that its time for its existence to reverse,
The only thing that's cradling desires to be dead
Is that terrifying, oscillating, voice inside your head.

Of course you see its comfort, its offer that's consistent,
The offer of a life times pain, to be your true assistant.
Terror of rejection and fright of your desire
Is drowning out the notes of your strong subconscious choir.

Like the lethal dusty cobra, venom stings your veins,
Eventually the leeches will be all that will remain.
Unless you let your voices sing, and be of sound assistance,
The venom will absorb your skin and bury your existence.