Wretched song that falls, somehow silently, on all ears but mine.
A scream, so loud, why am I the only one who hears it?
Why won't anyone come to help me?
I look, and see one thing, the thing that is all, the only one, the reason of my misery.
The Monster.
Invisible to all eyes but my own.
The Monster
Silent, evil, crouched in the night of the day.
The Monster.
The only thing I fear, and the only thing I see.
The only thing I hate, but it is all of me,
The Monster.
The Monster.
All of my company, though I know it's just insanity.
The Monster.
It taunts me, with its lifeless eyes, fearless words, and horrible decaying body.
Maybe someday he'll just rot away to nothing?
Foolish optimistic me, dreaming of what's not to be, and what was.
It makes it all happen.
The Monster.
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I lift my pencil from the paper and shiver. This one describes everything more perfectly than any of the rest. I crack a rare smile and file it gently away with all of the rest underneath my bed, I don't need them finding it, and thinking I'm more insane than I actually am.
'Writing your little words again?" it asks scornfully, "You know I'm a part of you, we're one, you and I, mental ward partners, and we have to stick together, as neither of us deserves the wretched place."
"I'll deserve it until YOU go away, “I reply. Oh fantastic, not only is he back, but I'm talking to him. "You don't exist." Why did I even respond? I know he, damn, IT, isn't real. "Okay, fair," it sneers "If you'd stop talking to me, than the padded walls might go away, but even that can't stop the dreams."I give an involuntary twitch, and try to cover it up. "You must be as afraid of them as I am; you die in them, don't you?" I say this with fake cockiness, praying it'll hit a nerve, but no such luck. "Foolish girl, I create them, they're from the same brain category as I am." It replies.
"If you hadn't gone and killed yourself, especially the way you did, you wouldn't be there."
This is how our conversations usually go, he taunts me, (though he's going farther than usual today, seeing as I've written about 10 pieces today,) I fail at a witty comeback, and then I sulk in a corner, searching my corrupted mind for inspiration and trying to avoid the vision of his, no IT"S rotting flesh that now follows me everywhere.
"Far and away o'er a lonely sea, I hear as you cry out to me, longing for you as I always do, I join you mournfully...
someday, darling someday, I'll see you again..... someday darling someday, we will be again more than friends."
Far and away o' er the lonely sea, I love you, and you love me."
He- god, I keep doing that, IT ends the song on a deep note that, years before, when I actually would say he, would be accented with a higher note from my lips. It was our song, and the horrible imitation of him has no right to it, no right to tarnish those memories, or any for that matter. I remember when we found the music box, and the sheet with the lyrics to the lovely yet melancholy tune it played. The song haunts my dreams, and of my waking moments as well.
