Vice: The Sequel

He had heard of it before,
It's fame, it's power, it's form.
He had seen it from afar,
Seductive lengths sliding across the sky.
Its influence, the effects it had,
The destruction that followed,
Were fables and tales in his ear.
He knew he would never be so frail,
So weak in heart and mind,
For such things to occur.
Surprised he was, the day it came,
Suddenly there in front of him.
Its glossy, dark form
Deep and intensely tantalizing.
How could such mesmerizing beauty
Be the death and undoing of men?
That did not seem right to this man.
And so he reached out,
Inching his bright hand closer,
Reasoning within his mind,
His much lauded mind,
That he was far stronger,
Far wiser and more keen,
Than this beautiful ribbon of darkness
Ever could be.
One touch would not hurt,
One brief quick feel,
Just to experience the sensation
Of the silky smooth form.
Upon his finger contacting the form,
He experienced something new.
Warmth within his hand, in his mind too,
A burst of excitement,
A flood of feeling,
Insubstantial warmth
Coursing through his body
That was unlike any other.
Suddenly, though,
That warmth was gone,
Leaving his fingers frigid,
His mind empty, grasping, gasping,
Feeling the cold withdrawal.
So he plunged in his hand,
Needing that warmth,
And the darkness eagerly obliged.
Once more he was filled
With the rush of sensation
That was incomparable to another.
The surge of cold, this time,
Was worse than before,
Withdrawal filling his heart and soul.
So he turned to the swirling form,
Seeking the comfort it offered,
Urging it to cover his light-filled form,
To share its addictive warmth.
He hugged it to him,
Willing the warmth to remain.
It came in waves:
Each warmth more fleeting,
Each cold worse and more intense,
Each time requiring
That he yield more of his body, and light,
To enwrap himself more in its folds.
The dark entity whispered comfort,
Putting his dependent mind at ease.
And the man watched as it covered him all,
The ever more elusive warmth
Now fleeing before
The stark cold reality.
Even as he realized
The truth of what was happening,
Even as he felt his life consumed,
He clung to his dependence,
Seeking solace from
The very source of his ruin.
Then all at once all went dark,
As the black silk covered all,
His body and face obscured.
The man felt thorns enter his flesh,
From the seemingly gentle form.
Pain shot through him,
Every vein full of fire.
The man felt his life ebbing,
His light and strength fleeing.
Writhing and thrashing,
Trying to get free,
He struggled to escape the pain.
But the thorns dug deeper,
The entity constricting tighter,
Holding fast to the object of its gain.
The man stopped moving,
His energy spent,
And slowly his vision returned.
He watched as the dark ribbon
Flung him to the side,
Leaving him to lie,
Battered, broken,
In utter defeat:
Alone, abandoned, ashamed.
In a final cruel act
The shadowy form,
Glistening in gruesome glory,
Showed the man his own reflection.
The man gasped to see himself,
Shriveled and weak,
His body naught but a shell,
A shadow of its former self.
His strength was gone,
Light and power all consumed.
With an evil chuckle,
A sinister and satisfied sigh,
The vice withdrew,
Leaving the astonished man.
The pain, the loneliness,
The utter despair,
Was like ice in his wrecked body,
Fire in his soul and mind.
Thus he was left,
A shivering, shaking form,
Agonized and wracked within,
Left to weep in anguish,
Left to shed bitter tears. Ω