I didn't mean to do it
To step into this pile of shit
I'm losing, losing control
Slowly losing, losing my soul
Demon blood is too sweet
Power is a huge feat
So feed me more and more
Creature growing in my core
Crimson flecks of dots
Psychic abilities running hot
Growing mass of madness
Mind a pretty muddled mess
The withdrawals affect me
They keep calling me a junkie
But I've got to kill Lilith
To stop the fuse from being lit
I'm doing it to murder her
...Or am I doing it for power---?
Spiraling out of reality
As I realise my own insanity
Why do I still refuse to see
That I'm just a monstrous deformity?
YOU ARE READING
To My Wayward Sons (Supernatural Poetry)
PoetrySupernatural poems that I write when all the: -massive emotional damage -overwhelming crack -severe obsession -rare inspiration -demon possessing me is too much to handle. 50% feels, 50% crack, 100% trash. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here! ××× ...
