Word Vomit

Monster

Sometimes the monster eats me up

From the inside

Slowly taking the parts of me I once loved

Morphing the butterflies

Into crawling centipedes

Hungry for the rotten

And sometimes he'd call my name

In a broken whisper

Asking me to do his bidding

For a moment I'd reconsider

Giving in to his poison-laced lies

Until the whispers become screams

And sometimes I'd answer

To its reckless calling

Offering my body as a host

To its tormented soul –

So fragmented

That I'd wonder if it was ever whole

And sometimes he'd stay for months

To haunt me in my dreams

Nightmares – or so everyone believes

In these dreams he'd linger

And sometimes stretch out

A lonely hand

And sometimes I take this hand

In exchange for my own

For his hands were not stained with scarlet

Always cold as if they were scared

Of the slightest touch

That would bring them warmth

And sometimes I think the monster is better than me.