what lies in this mans heart

What hatred lies in this mans heart, what fear breeds in the dark, what loathing rots away the soul, diseased and putrid and vile. Hide this savage beast from the world unawares; force it away into a drug-fuelled coma, the opiate complacency of bitter defeat. The wretched disgust that boils away beneath the rind, the grotesque denial of flesh and form, and the anger contained within at the life without. Seething at the existence of pitiful thought and fantasy, the skin will never know the pain of the spirit, the agitation caused when no blade will offer the final solution. With this he screams at the empty walls, his prison cell inside his head, his self-imposed sentence of solitary confinement. His blood spills out again and again, bleaching the white page black, letting loose the words as violent fist of rage. He kills his pride, his hope, his dreams, he murders his love, his compassion, his guilt. Hide the tears in the cold dark night, run from the knowledge of his regret, destroy the mind to preserve the body. His demons are his only friends now, all contact with an outside world only fuels the fires already raging out of control, the horrors of death do nothing to sate his desire for pain, his need for anguish, now even sleep holds no solace. If only he would let it come.
This darkened room where anxiety seeps from the walls, this dungeon where he unleashes his fury bares no marks of his wrath, yet still the words flow like blood from his fractured wound, but not committed pen to page, for his darkness could not survive in our world, instead he hides it away, keeping it all inside, keeping those away who want to know where it hides.