It is more convoluted, than just
a throbbing demand for blood.
It is more labyrinthine than simply
knowing that I will stand, bloody faced
and victorious, heart pounding against
my rib cage. A reminder that the trophy blood
that drips from my hands, is not mine.
It belongs to one of the demons that has tracked me
for too many years, lurking. In that few seconds before
day becomes night, waiting relentlessly to swallow
whole the rare moments when I am able to
fall asleep with out first having to run my fingers
along the blades hidden beneath my bed,
just to comfort my mind before close my eyes.
The corpse, black and burnt, will not stand again.
But there are more where this one came from.
Its more complicated than positive talk and
encouragement. Its more complicated than
a patronizing pat on the back, telling me that
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