Peeking through the window. - Can they see me ?
I've been here for hours. - Feet start to scream.
Running down the hallway. - Knives in both hands.
Demons right behind me. - No semblance of man.
Why do they chase me ? - Why won't they leave?
Loosing touch with reality. - They're all that I see.
Have I gone crazy? - Something answers me.
Scratching at the window. – Too petrified to breathe.
They seem to enjoy this. - What is it they hunt?
The whole room seemed to answer. -
"We're servants of the Devil,
And it's YOU that we want "!
Paranoid schizophrenia that manifested through time.
Is the unfortunate Diagnosis. - That explains my sick mind.
Twisted reality. – Getting only worse with time.
Untreated will surely kill me. - I'm destined to die.
Wait! where are the voices? - That toy with my brain?
I feel so alone now. - Or have I gone permanently insane?
Without them I'm lonely. - An emptiness within.
As sick as it might sound. - I kind of miss them.
To some this sounds morbid - This paradox I face.
But being alone in my mind is a frighting place.
© Copyright 2007 johnbalestrino29 (UN: johnbalestrino at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
johnbalestrino29 has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
