The Burden Man

With internal devices I fight, Battling my demons of the night. Inside I am cold, empty, and alone, Frightening faces, a burdening tone. The blood of nights passed, How long must they last? Screaming shadows cast through the room, Summoning the sense of utter doom. The plague of the darkness, It lasts with death's kiss, A suffocating silence, The vibration of defiance, Echos in deaf ears, Calling upon foreboding fears. Churning guilt, a face of it's own, Haunted whispers chilling the bone. The Burden Man sits and plans your demise, He consumes you slowly; feeding on lies. He never sleeps; neither do you, The paranoia becomes too much and you're through, You're being eaten alive, from the inside out, You can't breath, nor can you shout. The Burden Man wins; he always will. Your presence, it haunts, it lingers still. The Burden man whispers his ominous dictum: "I am not your friend. I am your victim."