such dark, dark monsters stirring inside of me.

put those hands away

A scratch in the surface, what is the purpose?
And if I could open wounds and unravel scars, I'd do a pretty number on you.
I feel trapped.
I kneel before the King, I have nothing for you, he says, slamming his scepter down, a look of heavy dismissal pulling on his brow. The walls begin to close in as I'm pulled from his grace's presence. No. Please hear me. Phantoms of misery cast down from the ceiling, bound for my heart, my flesh, what little hope for humanity that I have left and it's gone, within a moment, not even a moment because that exercises a flick of consciousness from the mind to own some state of being, a sense of self, but I had none, no time to gasp, to throw my hands up to shield myself, to cry, to run, to plead, anything. If hopelessness was a physical entity that could fill a room everyone would choke on it. They would all fall to their knees, asphyxiated, with pain and confusion contorting the features on their face. In my decomposing state, I would hear their shrieks and cries, whatever could escape their mouths, and I will smile because now they know how I feel. Yet, I am for the better, I will stand upon their corpses after I pile them high. I will throw my arms up towards the stars and ask for the brightest spotlight to show the world what I have done..

Desire for chaos.

Sleeping children weaving dreams of honeysuckle and games of chase through the small world that they call home. "Come play with us," shouts a little, blond girl with more authority than she cares to question. "I won't play your little game, but I know a better one," I say with an urge at curiosity and a wan smile. That's it. Yes. I've got them. I see their faces light up as if the city behind me has suddenly gone to flames, reflected in their eyes, and that's what I intend to do..

Put me back gently, just where you found me.