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Still trying to figure myself out...

 

I'm still trying to figure myself out.

 

Why I'm different from everyone else. Everyone else walks around normally, sees normally and talks normally. Then I see through a red haze and I can see the little intentions behind certain words and the meaning of small gestures. I see the flickers of light bulbs going off inside of people. Why?

And there's something inside of me. I can see its not in other people. Only in me. It's dark and likes to see through the red haze. It gives into bad temptations and it wants me to be a different person. 

It wants to tempt, it wants to hurt and to seduce and feed. It longs blood and feels kin to things that are only alive in fiction. I can't express it, I can't let it loose, or I will be locked up. No one knows about it but me. And it is me. Sometime I look in the mirror and I see it staring at me, long white teeth ready to feed and a hungry gleam in its eye.

It scares me and it knows I'm afraid of it. It has strength I can't portray it has urges or evil, of pure psychotic evil that will consume and burn down everything in touches, and as it burns beneath my skin and scorches my insides, I still try to protect everything I see, and I touch. 

It hates me. And it loves me. It needs me and it wants to get rid of me. It burns and it stings and it smothers me when I'm sleeping. Special hospitals seem like a distant memory to me, a vivid memory to it. It remembers what that's like and the smiles and the freedom of mind. And how, in your mind, you can go places, in dimensions that scientists haven't discovered yet.

It tries to show me, but I can't let it. I will live that distant dream it has. Every night it screams at me to play with it. It wants to me act, so play.  But I'll be hurting others. It has no remorse or regret and takes that away from me. 

It tells me to pick fights, it tells me I'm better and can rise above, if only..

if only...

give in, it says.

if only to give in...

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