Description
The Third Tread from “Had to Let Go” (Poem):
“The Slaughter of Temptation”
“I slaughtered lust in its flesh before it could seduce me.” The words cut as sharply as the act they describe—a visceral, deliberate strike against a force that once held me captive. There came a moment of reckoning, a crossroads where the air thickened with decision. Lust stood before me, not as a shadow or a whisper, but tangible, pulsing, its flesh warm with promise. It wasn’t a vague temptation—it was alive, breathing, offering itself with a smile that could unravel the strongest will. But I wielded the blade of will first, not out of hatred, but survival. To let it seduce me again would’ve been to surrender the iron my soul had forged through trials past.
This wasn’t a gentle refusal. Overcoming lust isn’t a polite negotiation—it’s a slaughter, a brutal severing of ties. The moment demanded action, not hesitation. Lust’s flesh was soft, inviting, its promises dripping like honey: comfort, escape, a fleeting high. But I’d tasted its bloodstains before, felt the chains it draped over me under the guise of freedom. I struck—not to wound, but to end its dominion. The temptation philosophy here isn’t about resisting for the sake of morality; it’s about reclaiming power. To indulge would’ve been to kneel, to hand over the soul I’d fought to refine. Instead, I chose to stand.
Nietzsche’s voice echoes through this act: true power isn’t in indulgence but in self-mastery. He spoke of overcoming oneself, of wrestling the chaotic forces within until they bend to your will. Lust wasn’t an external enemy—it was me, a part of me, a wild fragment I’d let roam too long. Slaughtering it meant facing that truth: the seductress wasn’t just in the world; she was in my mirror. The blade I raised wasn’t against her alone—it was against the version of myself that craved her. Overcoming lust became an act of creation, carving out a new self from the wreckage of the old.
There’s no romance in this killing. It’s brutal—blood on the hands, a shudder in the air, the weight of what’s lost and gained. I didn’t banish lust’s presence entirely; its ghost lingers, a faint pulse in the corners of my mind. But I ended its reign. Self-mastery doesn’t erase temptation—it strips it of its throne. The iron of my soul, forged in earlier crucibles, gave me the strength to swing the blade. To let lust seduce me again would’ve melted that iron back into slag, undoing every trial I’d endured. Survival meant sacrifice, and I chose to sacrifice the seducer rather than myself.
The temptation philosophy asks us to see this not as cruelty, but as necessity. Every soul faces its own slaughterhouse—a place where something must die for something else to live. For me, it was lust in its flesh, warm and pleading. For you, it might be different—pride, fear, a hunger for approval. The act is the same: a reckoning, a blade, a choice. Self-mastery isn’t a gift bestowed; it’s a victory seized, often with trembling hands. I still feel the warmth of that flesh under my strike, the moment it fell silent. It was necessary. It was mine to do.
So I ask you: Have you faced a temptation you had to slay? What stood before you, pulsing with promise, that you chose to cut down? Overcoming lust—or any desire that binds—takes more than resolve; it takes a willingness to kill a part of yourself before it kills you. The slaughter isn’t the end—it’s the beginning of something harder, truer. What have you buried to rise?
LifeandTimelessart 