PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I called it the Violence.

It lives in my body, and it used to be separate from me.

Now I'm not sure.

Has it bored and burrowed it's way so far into my soul that it becomes me and I become it?

Am I already too late?

My psychiatrist says there's hope.

That's because I lie to him.

I could show him.

Show him who I am when it has me.

But that would mean losing control.

Which I've only ever willingly done once.

I don't remember much, only being restrained by a teacher, some kid with a bloody nose trying to back away,

The only thought to squeeze his throat until his life fled before my hands.

I was six then.

All my life I've fought it.

And then I found her.

So unlike me, and yet we are the same.

The most unlikely, and the best of friends.

She fights her Demon, I fight mine.

We piss each other off the whole way.

But she's where Im safe.

Where IT can never be.

I don't know why, but it's a blessing I'll accept.

So now I have to get rid of it.

It wants me to kill.

Alright.

I'm going to kill it.