It lurks in the dark, waiting to make its mark, maybe a scratch or a twitch, maybe a closed fist or a dark thought, it’s in your head the strongest thing you’ve fought, leaving you weak and distraught, it wants to be caught it wants to be seen, so you can see its eyes gleam, the evil inside them, at first it was nothing, just a sad thought back then, as you grew up it did too, fed off your sadness your pain and madness. Those thoughts in your head do you think they’re just your own? No it messes with them, makes some fun of its new home. Some days you black out and lash out yell and shout, blood spilled, bodies around you of the people you’ve nearly killed, you think it’s just mania you think something in your cranium, think back, you heard it didn’t you, you don’t remember anything but hearing its voice knowing it’s made its choice, what happened then? You blacked out right? Oh what a fright you realise what it can do, finally but you can’t fight, it lurks in the darkness of your mind like a tiger in the night, ready to pounce, maybe after you just smoked that ounce? Have a few drinks you’re hearing voices, those glasses of bourbon wasn’t the right choices? You just stopped fighting, calm having fun, Ha! It’s got you under its thumb, you get a temptation to break the law, people’s bones, to destroy and destroy some more, you wanna run wild or do you? You sure, you want to run wild? Who? Ahahah, not true, mate you have no clue what it can do, what it does your mind is hazy full of fuzz? That’s it occupying your mind searching and trying to find, the best way to harm but it doesn’t want to alarm, it sneaks around, doing the little things, studying you, what makes you tick, how it will trick you, hurt you and others, it has a strange love for blood, and screams, it loves pain, to burn and maim, to torture and destroy, you are its new toy. Its strong as hell now, one of its new tricks, is found on paper, you don’t know what you just read its flew right past your head, its sitting right beside me on the bed, whilst you’re reading this I’m getting my knife, ready to end your life, turn around, too late.
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This poem, is a poem my boyfriend wrote. I am not taking any credit whatsoever.
