What terrible sorrow it is
to know there is a world of souls to talk to,
yet the only ones I can find
to share company with
are the devils inside my mind.

They work me into delusions
using their power to keep me locked
so far up in my head
that I am disconnected from my body.

Self destroy, they tell me.
They protect me from the sting of the blade
that I take to my own skin,
******* it into a void somewhere in their realm
so that I feel nothing
no matter how deep I go.

They tell me how easy
it would be to break my wrist.
Tell me how good it would feel
to bash my head until I see the stars.

The world is ending, they tell me
so end with it.
They give me sights of fire, ember and ash,
let me see a glimpse of their world,
inspire me to draw them.
But art no longer feels like a creative outlet
When I see what they made me draw,
I feel an endless doom.
There can be no hope in the world
with these devils of mine running about.

They give me a plan
one that ensures a quick death.

When I resurface I realize,
I am in a hospital.
The nurses give me medication
to take the voices away.

You're okay, they tell me.
You're okay

I knew there was another world out there somewhere
A world better than the one that was created in here
gestures to my head
"What is it?" The nurses ask.
"Does your head hurt?"

"No," I say. "My friends are gone."

I wanted a love
that I could smell, feel, and see.
A love that looks vibrant red,
feels like a swollen heart,
and smells more piquant
than the salt of the sea.

And finally, I found it.

The pit of my stomach
clenches when I am around you
And my eyes search for yours
but instead they look through
the empty sockets in your skull.

I hold your heart in my hands
literally,
and it drips,
pouring love's fluid
all over the floor.
And your eyes, I find swimming
in the corked jar filled with formaldehyde.
To preserve them, so that I may always
know the ocean blue.

I bask in your fragrance
as it consumes the air around me;
stronger and more pungent
than the scent of sea salt,
but oh, so pleasant.

I lay myself next to you,
and let my touch
sink its warmth into your cold skin.

This love looks vibrant;
As vibrant as the red
that sloppily coats my hands,
Feels mushy and swollen,
like this heart of yours I hold
close to my own,
And smells sharper,
Sharper than the knife I used
to gently, and with care,
cut it out.

All of my good memories
are stuck far up on the shelf.

They are books that I know exist,
but may as well be useless
for the dust that they collect.

By night, I energize
from destroying the souls
of innocent lives:
my bloodlust takes flight.

I revel in the cloak of darkness
and shy at the bright of day,
Celebrate the taste of blood
and wish the night would stay.

I see behind my eyes
the cries of suffering
my human form sings
while the blazing sun is awake.

I feel the echo of self hatred and horror
at who I am
and what I do.

By night, I shift and bare my teeth,
tear apart raw flesh and fresh meat.
Break bones and eat marrow
and dread the dawn of tomorrow.

I exist in contrast
to the thing that pathetically
weeps at day,
and forever wish
I could eat it
away.

By day I wait,
for the curse of night,
to become a beast of
torturous fright.

Each time,
I try desperately to fight the change,
But my strengthened form
continuously breaks these chains.

They fall uselessly to the floor,
and I watch behind my eyes with horror
as I crawl on all fours.

Driven by an instinct
that belongs to the beast,
I growl, and slash, and slaughter,
until the innocent lives around me
lay dead, and mangled.

By day, I suffer
with the curse of dread
at what I am
and what I have done.

A power I cannot control
controls me, it seems
but we are not one.

I stand as a stark contrast
to the thing that kills by night
and I continue to do all I can
to cast
it out.