Friday, October 30, 2009

Scapegoat

A sickness is growing deep within me, tearing apart my inner core. Cancer that drives itself, holding back my ambition. Vile spills from my mouth, burning my skin. Gnawing at the back of my chest eating me from the inside.

I cry at night to ease the pain, fading away to nothing. I cower in the darkness bleeding upon the dirt. The tears they feel acid hot, as if to intensify the shame.

No one can hear me, not even if I wanted them to. There's solitude in distance. No one would ever look for me anyways. Why would they want to?

Is this remorse? Can I too feel pity? I thought I was above this.

I must be strong. There's no room for weakness. For I am God, and I am the devil. We are but one in the same. Erase this pain. Erase this pain. Erase this pain.

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