The last light fades and silence takes me.
Silence always gets the guilty ones to speak.
The room that has become my prison has become as dark as my soul.
Silent as my unmoving lips.
Regret spits in my face.
It has surfaced now that I am alone.
Guilt stabs the remains of my heart.
Denying my lungs oxygen.
I have died again this night.
The curse awakens me tomorrow.
Karma has denied me eternal rest.
An unending war rages inside me.
My curse:
To be loved, but to not feel it.
To have strength, but to be unable to conjure it.
Self destructing on my need of such a small, powerful monster.
My will and insight have bent.
Common sense has gone awry.
Anger at none other than myself.
However anger is neither rash nor easily contained.
My blind rage forced upon as a poison unto those who still had faith that the old Me was still there.
In the silence, in the void of night, Me is here.
Screaming, clawing through the carnage of my soul.
The good Me, broken, but very much alive.
But it is too late.
Weak, curse-trodden Me.
Self-destructing, bitter Me.
I cannot defend when day comes to play its porcelain-encrusted games.
Staged emotions take over, having known their lines by heart.
Always exaggerating their scenes.
A small soliloquy is more than enough to get by,
When the charade is over, seclusion and meaningless melodies take their shifts with morbid satisfaction.
And by the dying light, jealous darkness waits, unable to contain its misery-fed glee at capturing me once more.
Emotions are in control.
I am not Me.
I am plastered.
Mummified and hostage within myself.
