You Don't Know Me

The beginning of my story, and I want some comments on it and what you think. I know this is poems, but I didn't know where else to put it on here, so enjoy.
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You don't know me, no one really does. I'm not even sure I know me.
I could be anywhere; in your room sitting on your bed, or hiding in your closet. Or, perhaps I'm the monster under your bed. Yes, there is one. You've met him before, haven't you? Yes, that monster you see in your dream that sees you in your dreams, the one that frightens you so? That monster - the one you fear so greatly - the one with the midnight fur, that has silver red-tipped claws (and not painted, if you understand me correctly), and stands nearly six feet tall- yes, him; I control him. Yes, that's right. I control everything. I even control you. It's true; I know everything about you and everything you do every night and day, and if I don't like it, you will be punished. Punished by all means possible; punished so greatly, you will look into my eyes and plead for death.
Why, you ask? Why will you be begging for death? It's so simple, yet so complicated. No one deserves to be happy. It's an involuntary emotion that makes me sick. Anyone who is 'happy' does not know real life, and they certainly have not felt real pain. Not the kind of pain that can kill one, not the kind that means a broken soul must try to nurture the broken heart. Nothing, nothing, is worse than that pain. Not one god damned thing, and I would certainly know; I've felt it many times. No, a person smart like us should not be happy. See, smart people like us see the lies of the world that rests about them.
Do you see that girl over there? The one everyone seems to love and care for? The one that is always surrounded by friends and admirers? This girl isn't as innocent as her smiles shows; no, there are so many lies within her she's never told anyone . . . not even her best friends. How do I know this, you ask? Look at her eyes! They tell such a story (and an interesting one, at that!) Hidden behind all her make-up is who she really is; who she sees herself as - worthless, pointless, and hopeless. That is who she is to herself. Now, the point here is that there is always a pain somewhere - maybe even right in front of you, that you not aware of, may it be your own pain or the person's sitting next to you.
Quite personally I feel sorry for happy people. They are the weak ones. For if you have never felt pain, then what is teaching you? Sure, teachers may teach you, but do they teach you how to deal with a pain so harsh, you can't face it anymore? A pain so unreal, you believe what it tells you? A pain so real that you beg to feel something, anything. This pain will make you cry yourself to sleep, ignore your friends; this pain will make your grades drop, and you'll look at the world with dull pain filled eyes. You will loose touch with reality. You will no longer see who you are. You are alone. You always will be. *****
Did you know I can feel your heart beat right now? Did you know I'm sitting right beside your window, watching your every move?
I control you. I control this pain you posses. When you cry yourself to sleep? This is me speaking through you. Yes, that's right, it's me. Hate me yet? Ah, you will learn to, for I am always here. And yet, I am never there. Sitting there under your bed or in your closet, or by your window. I am promised to you from the moment you are born. Have you guessed who I am yet? I am many things but only one. I am pain. I am malice. I am your tears. I am what makes you hate yourself and feel barren inside. I am your unhappiness. I am what makes you, you. I am your end. I am The End. I am The Beginning.

I Am Death.
-xDarkSuicidex