Skelntons

By
I am the sick and the perverse.

My thoughts are beyond a morbid sickness I cannot cure.

I am a disease and an infectious plague.

Sometimes hatred and anger consume me.

With each fit of rage I worsen.

I become sicker and more perverse.

My soul flirts with the devil and my black heart baits him in.

Everything I touch becomes a burning torch.

It goes up in flames and becomes ashes.

I am a prisoner within myself and I cannot break free.

These shackles hold me against my will.

Loneliness sets in.

I point a blaming finger only at the reflection, which I see in the mirror.

I'm ostracized as always.

The ugly duckling never to become a beautiful swan.

Do you know what comforts me as a security blanket?

Self pity.

The ability to feel sorry for my weakness.

What is wrong with me?

I don't know what's wrong.

Why am I like this?

Why can't I be normal?

If the devil is inside of me than why does god not come to my aid?

I've cried out and I've professed my sins.

I have begged for forgiveness.

If this is the body of Christ than why does he allow Lucifer to possess me?

Save me.

Someone.

Each day I worsen.

I live for happiness but I'm dieing of despair.

I want to drift on a raft across the sea into another reality.

Where I am problem free.

Where I can hurt no one.

Maybe I'm best alone.

This way I can suffer my own mistakes.

I have skeletons buried deep in my closet.

Corpses upon corpses.

I am perfumed with their decaying stench.

Will the blood ever wash away?





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