My mind is slipping.
Dripping in ink-like substance.
Feeding the rot.
Metastasizing throughout.
Loss of control.
Subjugated by chemical agents in conjunction with brain activity.

The real me.
You don't know.
And never will.
For I am still.
When you draw near.

Bittersweet addiction.
Sometimes I am sweet on you.

To my dismay...