monster

A viscous gloom, like a shroud, has wrapped around,
And in it whispers something rotten and unsound.
Not angel, not demon – just a festering sore,
A mirror of the soul, diseased to its core.

"Weariness is a noose around your neck,
It strangles slowly, day after day.
Let me tear off this rot, without a check,
Let me rip out the old self, and cast it away."

In its eyes – an abyss, blacker than night,
Madness dances, a wild and primal fear.
It is my executioner, my last respite,
And I surrender myself to its clawed sphere.

Claws tear, bones crunch under the pressure,
Blood – a black river, flowing into nowhere.
The old me – just a wretched leftover,
And the beast devours it without a care.

Not emptiness – just stench and decay,
And an icy wind, piercing through and through.
Not purity – just eternal pain,
And the chance for a new life – a tainted view.

The monster departs, leaving only decay,
And the scent of death, etched into my skin.
I am nothing, I am ashes, I am a tomb,
And in this darkness, there is no hope within.

Weariness – just a shadow of past pain,
Now there is only eternal agony.
The monster helped, but what's the gain?
Only eternal damnation, and eternal darkness for me.