Corruption

What did it used to be like to be me?
I can no longer remember the purity of youth,
the simplistic art of true laughter,
bubbling forth from senseless lips.
How can I be anything less?
I’ve reached deep into the depravity 
of my soul with both hands.
I look around me...what do I see?
Happiness, togetherness, beauty beyond all that I could be.
What a waste I have become.
Fruitless passions gone to waste.
How normal must I become to fit the concepts
of what is acceptable for love?
What parts do I Play?
Who must I create in my mind?
What shell do I weave around my soul
in order to love and be loved acceptably?
The tiny smoldering ember that burns in my heart,
slowly fades, until some wickedness in my heart ignites the fire.
The raging beast in side me ripping forth
shattering my "normal" facade.
With a wild Roar it escapes, running rampant, 
destroying my fragile hold on the acceptable.
I cannot kill the beast that is passion and fire,
for I too much need that creature which is woven in my being.
Cease to be me? Or sink further into the corruption I am.
That miserable desire to belong,
the burning need to be wanted by all.
And I am groping in darkness,
I close my eyes to the pain.
Crying out to a God I have no right to beg of...