Dark things

I had some rather disturbing dreams last night. I woke up in a heat. I needed it and I didn’t care how I got it, so I just took it. And he didn’t care… He never does. He let’s me do as I please, not seeming to understand that it’s an odd kind of desperation, this connection of mine. I’ll take anything to feel just something, just a little something, even if I have to claw and bite to have it. Even a monster needs a little piece. Sometimes you have to know that you’re still breathing, and those places, those dark places, even if they are in your head, they are real and true and showing you things. They show you what you don’t want to see. They show you how to break.

They show you how to slowly pick yourself apart until you’re nothing but a bleeding, screaming sacrifice to whatever demon will come take you. 

And god, how easy it is to forget that my demons are many. These are the makings of monstrosity, aren’t they? I can’t believe I was so naive as to not see. They frightened me, those dreams, those ones where I desecrate the things I care about. But you know what? I get it now. It’s part of the process. It’s the becoming. 

It’s how you make a monster. 


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