BritishPieWTF

There's a demon in the mirror And this demon tortures me. It stares me down and points out every flaw. It's breaking all the glass And it's gnawing at my soul. It lives to crush my spirit And gains strength as my blood runs cold. Nobody else can really tell But it's true, this demon is killing me. I've got the scars to prove it, But they're just too deep to see. And as my stomach caves in And my lungs fill up with ash, This thing…this thing it only laughs. Destructive thoughts constantly cloud my head, And they'll be there until I'm dead. There's a demon in the mirror And this demon is me.

A poem bound in the words of truth is simply the greatest one could find. for if one has never read the words of truth, he must surely be bound, and blind. some people think, but how is that enough, when they cannot even hear the thoughts that plague their brain, up and up. the thoughts one thinks can be great at times, bit surely they cannot help the rhymes. others do, and thats alright... but they do without thinking, not even in slight... how this can be healthy, i simply dont know. but they make it work, unwise though. but then there are the voices. dictating, orating... they tell how to live, they criticize mistakes. t

I was running. It was unclear from what or whom but I was running. I was running through a dark forest as the rain poured down. I ram through the mud and the leaves. It was about mid fall, id say sometime between 11 pm and 2 am. The moon was large and bright, the only thing illuminating the forest. I could tell someone was following me when I heard footsteps. Not panicked running like me, but slow calm walking. I ran even faster now.  But as my pace picked up, I tripped over a log and flew into the mud. There was a piercing pain in my chest. Like id just been run over by a freight train. Something was broken. I wanted to scream but I didn't.