they're beginning to itch
these new clothes that I've donned
making me seem normal,
as one of them,
the paint on my face
no longer forlorn

I can feel it writhe and move
inside my head,
hiss in displeasure
wanting out,
wanting to spread
it is done with its leisure

the monster I carry
that green eyed devil
its been waiting to long to strike
and ooze will my blood
dark, clotted bile
and with it I'll purge
all these lies.

No, I'm not afraid,
I was just confused,
while waiting,
that I could be one of them
I am never, I will never be
I reside only in the sidelines
with a butcher knife to parry.