The Voice I Once Was

There is a strident voice that whispers stern
When night awakens and desire hums.
She makes my blood boil and my stomach churn.

She tells me I’m a lie and I should burn—
That hope is futile when the devil comes.
There is a strident voice that whispers stern.

I cannot purge myself of her concern,
Regardless if I know I can’t succumb.
She makes my blood boil and my stomach churn.

And when I stir awake it’s still her turn,
Until my tired and jaded mind is numb.
There is a strident voice that whispers stern.

Despite my ruthless efforts she returns—
Ceaseless beating against her wicked drum.
She makes my blood boil and my stomach churn.

I want to carve her out so I can yearn,
Or carve myself and never overcome.
There is a strident voice that whispers stern—
She makes my blood boil and my stomach churn.