Updated: Aug 2, 2020
I can feel it again.
it's building, brick by minute, thought by moment.
it's a disease, and I can't stop it;
Festers, boils, ugly blotches of purple on my skin,
near the chest, in the head; but you can't see it, the roots run deep within.
The monster knocks, frequently nowadays;
It snarls, bites, ferocious for a peace of my mind,
and i vomit uncontrollably, poison.
It lives inside me now.
It wakes frequently and my eyes open wide
I do fight back,
I twist and writhe; till my defeated self, lies limp to the side.
Of losing my sanity;
That's why I write.
Because the fiend can hear me speak,
But maybe, it can't watch me write.
And then there's another that's born of it.
They're kin but not alike,
But yet they have the same spikes.
The second one makes me hate myself
For weakly fostering the first.
It makes me stutter, feeds me fear
and that just quenches the other's thirst.
My heart feels heavy, like it's going to fall,
But then it's caged in their heavy wall.
My mind feels like it may burst,
And then a third awakens and says
- It wouldn't be the worst.
I'm sorry for my monsters but they mean well,
They were born of a need to safeguard.
And I feed them sometimes, afraid of fear,
and still fall too deep and hurt so hard.
Forgive me, for my soul is pure;
It loves, lives albeit quite quietly.
Seldom, but sure, I feel the essence wake,
And so's it
And so's it