Vice

I'm in a vice.
It's rather nice.

It has me by the throat.
Every inch of me, every instinct screaming to grab
to claw, to spit, to bite
to subsume, to consume, to defeat, no retreat.
It has me by the throat.

I'm in a vice and I can't breathe.

There's a way out.
I will bite, you hear me?
I will scream my wrath and rage and ruin.
I will use your methods against you.
I can win even a game I do not choose.
There's a way out.

I'm in a vice and I no longer care.

I have protections.
The toxins of my choosing.
Those things that you can ingest to alter yourself.
Illegal. Abusive.
Things like love, and structure, and power.
I have protections.

I'm in a vice and it does nothing.

Show me things.
Rivers of blood, faces of the damned.
My own blood pouring from my veins and igniting.
I inhale the smoke and am born anew.
Sacrifice? For you?
Show me things.

I'm in a vice.
It's rather nice.

Never.