Ghosts. Scratches. Voices. They all exist.
In my head.
They're fake. That's a lie. They're real. Fake.
Anyway, both of us can't be real.
Who's going to give up reality then? I fear it's me. Fear already exists.In my head still. In the mind.
Darkness.
It's forever in my heart. The claws. Digging in. Bleeding black. Blinking tears. Haunted by nightmares.
Sleep is no longer a fortress.
Conquered.
A Sword of Blood in the hand of the conqueror.Fear.
He creates the voices. The creates the bloodshot-eyed demons. Together they march as an army on the last place yet to be conquered.
My sanity.But already that's slipping away.
My soldiers are pills. My advisers are the psychiatrists. No place is left safe anymore.Darkness is everywhere.
Whispering voices.
The conquering King. The Sword of Blood.
And me.My pills.
My soldiers.
Psychiatrists.
My sword.
Exorcism.
Darkness is coming.
Coming for me.
Coming for you.
YOU ARE READING
Misunderstood
Short StoryLife from the eyes of a torn mind...a pair of blurred eyes...a broken heart...a crushed soul. Some entries are deeper than others. None are true. But all speak truth.