Part One
It's happening.......
I can feel the slipping of my life,
slowly crawling out of my crasp.
I can feel the depression overwhelming all.
I can feel the pain.
I can feel everything fucking up.
But through it all, I still have hope.
I need to maintain hope.
He can't take that away.
It's the one thing he can't stop.
All I can do is hope.
Hope? Hope for what?
I may have hope, nut it's the wrong kind.
It's the hope I have of dying.
It's the hope of ending this shit I have....
of ending this.....disease, I'm cursed with
It's hope.
It's this hope that keeps me alive.
That keeps me ticking.
That keeps him quiet.
The hope keeps me in charge.
So he sits,
poised in patience, waiting.
Waiting, in the gathering dark.
Waiting to strike at my weakest point.
He sits and waits, inside me.
He's devouring my inner self.
Eating away at my life.
Feasting upon my weakness.
I can't stop him.
He is taking control....
I am dying.