My mother once told me

you can't erase what you write in ink.

I'm afraid I did not think

when I instead wrote in my own blood and tears,

reciting my worst fears.

Yet all I did was sit and watch as they

refused to go away.



Somehow I could not get their faces out of my home.

So I called to you as I let them roam,

and you told me that if I just waited,

that the monsters I created

would eventually be filled with hatred.

They would surround my mind,

wait until I was blind,

then stab my glowing soul,

until there was nothing but a dark hole. 



I eventually killed them,

leaving no water and no air

until they were shriveled and frail.

They seemed unable to grow,

with the numbing snow.

It seems as though,

you never really wanted me,

and were just here for the show.

And once those monsters disappeared,

all signs of your existence cleared.

I sometimes wonder 

if I just made you up, or if somehow

when you dragged me out of my darkness I left you under.