Distain for the comfort of others.
Blasphemy riddled lips.
Persecuted by the blood of another.
Convicted, wounded and ripped.
An errant thief that haunts this feeble mind.
Surrounding the haunting memories of distant past.
“Who art though,” I ask? Are you here to judge me?
The light of comfort wilts and never lasts.
Huddled amongst the inner illness.
Envision your way through a shattered mental maze of darkness and dismay.
A path obscured by the pitfalls and endless traps.
Only to invoke a demon that lurks in the shadows feeding on my emotions until I collapse.
Ask the question of, who am I?
Reach out and touch the empty seed.
Besieged by the darkness enclaved in its grasp.
Its chokes the essence of my soul as I beg and plead.
In terror I ask forgiveness and make amends.
Deep in my heart I reach out to the light. I beseech thee.
Wipe away the tears of pain and discontent.
Please hear my cry, my request, and my plea.
Does God really exist?
The demon replies, "Your soul is the flesh which I desire."
Dripping blood wet flesh.
It is my motivation.
It is my hunger.
To taste its savory raw tissue is almost as enjoyable as the kill of the
Prey from which I plucked the ripe morsel