sometimes he steals words from my journal … or so it feels.
If you haven’t spent time on his site – it’s past time you did.
Fire envelopes my soul.
It brings light to this grave.
Though I sleep, I can feel that I am cold.
A presence is here, watching, making me its slave.
A thickened, petulant voice calls from the darkness.
It screams and I awake.
These words written on my arm…hopeless?
I look around, I do not recognize this place.
My road is nowhere to be found.
I only see the forest for the trees.
There’s a knife in my hand?
I see the wound and I wished I could bleed.
What have I become?
I did not ask for this.
This nightmare pulls me undone.
Where is my youth?
I toss the knife into oblivion.
All at once, the voice whispered and hissed.
It was not pleasant, in fact, it was pissed.
It was then that I turned and saw my maker,
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