Soul Searching 

 Sometimes 

 In the blackest depths of the night

 I dare 

Visit the abysmal recesses of my mind 

There is never a pretty thing I can find. 

 Open one grime-covered door 

Enter - 

What is this rank odour? 

Cowering in the corner, it's my soul 

Like the portrait of Dorian 

Contorted and scorned, 

As if for years it had dwelt - 

 Serving as the firewood of Hell 

 "Come close," 

it says, as it has 

A thousand times before 

I retrace my steps 

And close the door 

Never to return again 

As I have done, 

A million times before. 

 No matter how hard I try, 

To avoid looking inside 

Inevitably, I face myself 

 And the person I truly am. 

 I tell myself on a daily basis 

It need not matter what's inside 

The world only judges fragments - faces, 

 Because it's just as rotten as I. 

 But a day will come when 

This soul searching finally ends; 

 A dialogue will happen 

 Between me, myself, and I. 

This Dorian-like twisted self of mine, 

Will reveal secrets I dare not confide - 

Ever. 

 A/N: This poem came out of nowhere. And it scared me.