Now that the thread is torn, a Pilgrim I'll be no more

I have fallen out of love with this ancient and decrepit construct
Bounds of obligation conspire to keep my hands so firmly tied
As I search for growth and I search for life
I grow so fucking tired of those spiral tales
Must I repeat myself so many times
For my point to be made and my words to be heeded?

Perhaps it's time to lay myself truly bare
But mistake me not for idiot flesh, who would cast his writing unto fools
This was never for you
For in pilgrimage there is an injury
And there is despair that so readily one would see the other dredge up imagery so biblically
Flagellating lyrically my sense of self for your petty entertainment

And as the words become more strained
I've come to find and appreciate the quality of journey's end
Even if only for its own sake

I mean, after all, such arduous and fitful ways into the deep
Would be wasted if I did not summarise and elucidate this curious circle that began so long ago

It matters not who it's for
It matters not who it's for
It matters not who it's for
It matters not who it's for
Or who it benefits

But once the thread is torn, there can be no going back
May the bridges burnt light the way forwards
Might the thread, once torn, transmute lead into gold

For the betterment of my soul
A Pilgrim I'll be no more