I can feel them.
Just when I quit their dastardly deeds,
they have begun to rebuild their army inside me.
Minions of the demons who torture, twist and deceive the truth.
Yes, I am about to go out of my head,
drifting on the sea of anxiety and guilt,
while letting their anger take hold.
No, I will not.
I must stay strong and fight off the temptations inside.
It's easier said than done.
When I close my eyes and steady my breathing, I see it.
That old bitch that lives up the block.
Crushing her eyeballs with my finger tips, while feasting on her merciless soul, as she begs for her worthless fucking life.
The useless, hobos that occupy half our land.
Running my car through their tents while the tread of my tires burns across their skulls.
No! I cannot.
I will not.
Others have been overtaken by the darkness and were immediately set free afterwards,
but how long after their crimes did they suffer from the consequences?
I shalt not take any names in vain and let it wash over me.
Some have suggested prayer.
My method has always been effective.
Cutting...deep.
Tracing the Latin phrase ignosce et obliviscere into my tender, weak skin, until the blood strains this terrible disease, making me clean once again.
Safe,
of one mind,
until they fight to get out again.
When they do,
I might not make it out alive.
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