Found in moments of solitude, I find myself under the weight of my turmoil, under everything that I’ve created, and I see myself crumbling from my knees as I am crushed slowly by the massive amount of hurt that I have built into this energy that grows above me, like a halo of putrid toxicity, stringed to my soul. The source of its power are the things that cause pain and play continously in circles like a carousel in my head. I feed it my anguish, giving more catastrophic animosity than it feeds me; yet, though we keep each other alive, I’m the one who’s dying as it becomes something much stronger than any soul can hold, and I know we will both destroy each other, for neither of us can survive without the other. I’ve made my own place of suffering, and it splits my skin like canyons and seeps into me like a river of destruction, winds that rip and callous around my eyes, blinding me and freezing my strength from becoming stronger than it, so it can continue to roar and snap it’s jaws into the areas that cause me the most hurt. Those that fall in love with me, tend to fall in love with it, they romanticise it as if it were something gentle like a blanket, yet fall to it like prey and they become imbalanced when the grounds of this turbulent heart begin to shake, and before they can realize the monstrosity of my evil, it has reached into those tender places they’ve opened up for me to love, and it drives its nails and teeth into them, ripping their heart into two. But, warning signs tempt those that dare go where Devils roar, only to find a lonesome hell where love doesn’t exist anymore. And I try to tell them you cannot rule where rules don’t exist. To walk away and run, because what I’ve become I will share with none.