The rambling of words.
Dancing round my head.
At a time when all seems dead.
The warmth of the grave does beckon me to slumber.
Though there is so much more to be done.
And before the dawn’s hateful light.
I shall go on in spite.
With rage and lust as my guides.
For within me all that was pure hides .
From the monster I’ve become trying to remember.
The me I never was.
This is how monsters are made.
This is all life truly does.