Unlike most people who get the devil and the angel,
I was bestowed with guardians, a little more two-faced.
Ego and Pride are not anything like the head and the heart,
They're both dressed in black, just one wears a shade darker.
Like two oars, rowing in opposite directions.
On pulling me to the familiar shore, the other to an adventurous ocean.
An abandoned boat drifting in the tides of Pride and Ego
Stuck in the same place as the current's ebbed and flowed.
At first, Pride saw Ego the way a perfectionist views a misfit
Judgmental and disapproving, she was brutal in her verdict.
And Ego returned the favour by ignoring her condescending behaviour,
Arrogant and self-centred, he embodied everything she had ever loathed
Her vanity and his complacency
sparked their never-ending profanities
My mind was now their territory to mark
From every flaw to the very last scar.
One defines my comfort zone, the other exiles me from it.
One pushes my boundaries, the other keeps me confined to it.
Ego fills me up like a helium balloon.
I feel my fake confidence soar right up to the moon.
Then Pride comes along to prick holes of morality
Tying me down to earth, the land of harsh reality.
Ego is Narcissistic while Pride is Pragmatic
Ego is my Fan while Pride my Critic.
So I had to be careful enough to not make any mistake
with whom I'd share my secrets with and who I'd ask for advice
For they'd have their separate words of wisdom and philosophy
From when to hold my head up high or when to hang it down in shame
And when to finally walk away or when to wait patiently.
For whoever words I chose to follow the other I invariably did insult.
Their fight over my custody soon gave birth to a love, so destructive
But alas, they knew no other way to convey affection
Other than by exploiting the other's weakness,
Pride's need for control and Ego's longing for approval,
His fear of being forgotten and hers of being replaced.
For too long they've traded their vulnerability in for dominance.
For too long they've forgotten what it means to be loved.
Yet, they managed to complete each other in a way so dysfunctional
Like a scenery composed of hues of fire and ice.
Then one day however Ego decided to replace my brush with his blade
And Pride decided to keep his canvas all to herself so she hid me away
That day a new meaning of the colour red was etched onto my soul
But Ego was only trying to bear the same shade Pride wore
And when I tried to scream, Pride would me gag me down
Till I gave in to find comfort in her suffocation.
From that day I was haunted by a voice in my head
That echoed, again and again, that I was better off dead.
I wanted to run away but where could I escape?
From wanting to disappear but not feel invisible.
Like coordinates drawn on a map to locate a place
I carved those lines onto my skin to find a beating pulse.
Reassuring myself that I am still flesh and warmblood
Not yet frozen, Not yet numb.
If I keep at my course, my plane is bound to crash.
But I have no parachute, nor no autopilot.
I don't want to seem like I'm against the world.
I am only at war with myself,
So I'll dawn my demons like battle armour,
In this gunfight called life where we've been armed with wooden clubs.
I was bestowed with guardians, a little more two-faced.
Ego and Pride are not anything like the head and the heart,
They're both dressed in black, just one wears a shade darker.
Like two oars, rowing in opposite directions.
On pulling me to the familiar shore, the other to an adventurous ocean.
An abandoned boat drifting in the tides of Pride and Ego
Stuck in the same place as the current's ebbed and flowed.
At first, Pride saw Ego the way a perfectionist views a misfit
Judgmental and disapproving, she was brutal in her verdict.
And Ego returned the favour by ignoring her condescending behaviour,
Arrogant and self-centred, he embodied everything she had ever loathed
Her vanity and his complacency
sparked their never-ending profanities
My mind was now their territory to mark
From every flaw to the very last scar.
One defines my comfort zone, the other exiles me from it.
One pushes my boundaries, the other keeps me confined to it.
Ego fills me up like a helium balloon.
I feel my fake confidence soar right up to the moon.
Then Pride comes along to prick holes of morality
Tying me down to earth, the land of harsh reality.
Ego is Narcissistic while Pride is Pragmatic
Ego is my Fan while Pride my Critic.
So I had to be careful enough to not make any mistake
with whom I'd share my secrets with and who I'd ask for advice
For they'd have their separate words of wisdom and philosophy
From when to hold my head up high or when to hang it down in shame
And when to finally walk away or when to wait patiently.
For whoever words I chose to follow the other I invariably did insult.
Their fight over my custody soon gave birth to a love, so destructive
But alas, they knew no other way to convey affection
Other than by exploiting the other's weakness,
Pride's need for control and Ego's longing for approval,
His fear of being forgotten and hers of being replaced.
For too long they've traded their vulnerability in for dominance.
For too long they've forgotten what it means to be loved.
Yet, they managed to complete each other in a way so dysfunctional
Like a scenery composed of hues of fire and ice.
Then one day however Ego decided to replace my brush with his blade
And Pride decided to keep his canvas all to herself so she hid me away
That day a new meaning of the colour red was etched onto my soul
But Ego was only trying to bear the same shade Pride wore
And when I tried to scream, Pride would me gag me down
Till I gave in to find comfort in her suffocation.
From that day I was haunted by a voice in my head
That echoed, again and again, that I was better off dead.
I wanted to run away but where could I escape?
From wanting to disappear but not feel invisible.
Like coordinates drawn on a map to locate a place
I carved those lines onto my skin to find a beating pulse.
Reassuring myself that I am still flesh and warmblood
Not yet frozen, Not yet numb.
If I keep at my course, my plane is bound to crash.
But I have no parachute, nor no autopilot.
I don't want to seem like I'm against the world.
I am only at war with myself,
So I'll dawn my demons like battle armour,
In this gunfight called life where we've been armed with wooden clubs.
