I send forth tendrils,
A radiating darkness
And pull everything in towards the center forever

It leaves an image on my surface,
Sometimes
Such a satisfying execution

But when I remember what I'm doing... ****!

I have no light of my own
We have ways of saying it
You give me ***** looks

You are all my children
My spawn
Whether you admit it or not

And we all share properties,

But only I can say I am The Sickness.