Broken

Things That Go Bump In The Night

~Surrounded by blackness

Comforted, yet haunted at the same time~

The phantoms and wraiths are wailing my name

(Can't look at everything the same)

Wanting me to fall off the edge

(But inside I already am dead)

And their screams are working

(Away from the agony I am not shirking)

Inch by inch I step a little closer

(Familiar with my role of a poser)

Desperate to see what lies inside

(What is the source of those enchanting cries)

Just two more feet to go

(No more will I put up a show)

*1 foot*

*6 inches*

Their moans become gleeful

(Almost blatantly cheerful)

As if they know they are going

(What am I not knowing)

To be absorbing a soul tonight

(But it's dark with no more light)

*1 inch left*

My broken hands curl over the jagged edge

(I am going to my death I allege)

My heart beating fast

(Each beat is my last)

My brain saying go back

(But I'm stuck on a one way track)

I am enthralled by the screams

(Pouring into my pores in streams)

My name sounds so pretty when they say it

(That sound alone makes me submit)

And it becomes a desire

(A raging fire)

A burning hunger

(Pulling me under)

To see

(What should be)

What is my salvation?