Me

My Mind Is Split

And the Lines Which Separate and Organize Have Long Since Faded.

I Am Lost

Inside these Walls of Mine.

Caged and Chained,

I Stand a Slave of Many Masters.

My Creatures

Are running Free.

A Sign is Posted

I Won’t Ever Die.

This Is Not a Mask I Wear,

But the Reshaping of Skin,

The Moulding of Bones,

The Quick Burning and Cooling

Of Sacred Flesh

I Am Steel which

Breaks and Cracks, Bends and Relocates.

I Was God and Creator.

I Thought They Were the Same.

But Creators Must Make Things

And Gods Must Rule Them.

My Creations Are Atheist.

It Does Not Become Less Painful,

This Skin Holds the Innards of Millions of Creatures.

They Have Swallowed Me from The Inside Out,

Replaced Mine with Theirs.

This Body Is Worn with Exhaustion from The Weight It Carries Inside.

Stretched and Pulled, Tightening and Loosening.

There May Be A Few Holes;

I am Leaking, I am Spilling Out,

It Should Not have Broke

Sometimes I Am Beautiful.

I Hear a Voice,

“Merciful”

There Is No One Inside of Me.

This Is a Part of Me.

I Am God and Devil,

Sinner and Saint.

I Can No Longer Differentiate

The Parts I’ve Created

With the Remains of Me,

They Have Been Sewn Together.

What Was Before Has Taken to Form

Scar

upon

Scar

Upon

Scar.

There is no Healing.

At Heart, I have Lived 10 Thousand Lives,

It Pains Me to Know,

I Have Died 10 Million More,

And Still

I Know Not Where I Reside,

Be It Fiction or Truth.

I Must Write in My Blood-

My Words are Loose.

I Wanted to Write Words and Stories

To Be So Consumed with the Passion of My Creations,

My Mind is Gone.

I Belong in Two Worlds.

I Know This has Become Wrong.

Leave Me to My Self Devices,

A Scheme of Way-too-Personal

Self-Sacrifices.

This is Not a Game, But a War.

These Are Not Tugs, They Are True to Their Core.

So, I Write.

Write,

Write.

Where I Should Be.

I Am Where I Thought I Wanted to Be.

I Thought that from The Beginning

The

“I”

Was Me.