Clawing for release it seeks the violence of freedom.
The most perfected of beasts smells blood close to the surface. A meandering madness scales slowly the fortress that is my heart. Clutching the remaining sanity has become an evil chore now, though I pray with the ghosts of angels. But back to that monster that mocks me in the forest of mirrors. He laughs, he taunts, he knows that I can not defeat him. Bodies of those broken lay at his feet as remnants of conquer. I am one of them, though he hasn't disposed of me quite yet.