I lie awake most nights, in stupor from the fear
That I am not a man, but beast,
An abomination from a dream.
The darkness not obscuring, it makes things clear,
The merest whisper transformed into a scream.
In this primal womb the truth’s gestating
And I am but a speck of dirt,
The monstrous urges seep from me and fester
They fill the void with a monsoon of lust.
If god made me in his perfect image
Then why am I so base and vile?
Why do I abhor my instincts, ...