My darling Darkness,

Are you so attached into the very fabric of my soul? Can I not go a week without your presence tainting my mind? I can tolerate the occasional struggle. I truly can. You've made me stronger than anyone should have to be. You've made me cold and dead inside. Death swirls around me and I don't even pause to mourn for those that are lost.

My humanity is held intact by a single tongue of flame. That flame is hope. Hope for something better. Hope that I'll get better. Are you so cruel a master that you'll take even that from me? I already have so little left to give. You've taken everything from me. You've held my face and forced me to stare upon pain, suffering, death, and you forced my eyes away when the good things came. Why do you let me suffer? Is this a game? I'm tired of being a pawn.

You almost drove me to be captured by death several times before. I should have fallen last time. You won't even let me have the painlessness of Death. You won't even give me Heaven or Hell. Have I not been your servant long enough to be allowed that gift?

I fall to my knees and pray to some silent God that I'll heal. Instead I am greeted by fitful nights and empty promises of redemption. You've taken every solace from my life. You took away what little love I felt. You took away the release of my writing. You burnt the freedom from being able to drive away for awhile. Every attempt at escaping your grasp long enough to ensure my own sanity has been crushed.

What is next? Will you take away my mind? I already feel the fevered madness working its way back up to my brain. I remember the collapse last time. I scratched my face with my fingers. I made myself bleed. I cried out in an anguish that was not from the wounds I made upon my own horrid face. I remember once saying I wished for a fever. You gave it to me. You benevolent wicked creature. You pulled the shard of yourself that is lodged in my soul to my surface. You made me burn and whimper.

What must I do? Must I lose that last flicker of hope to you? Must I become you to escape the torture that you force upon me? I'm tired of fighting you. I'm tired of lying in my bed at night taunted by your velvety words.

Your longtime companion and servant

VJ

Doom. I'm not quite sure what to say. Another very impressive story. I sense something different about this one.

If this is more than just a story you've created, just know we're always here for you, ok?

You're right. This isn't just a story. There are lots of things that I can express without telling the whole story behind some things so I'll leave it at that.

Ok. I'll respect that. I'm glad you've found a creative way to express your emotions. You have such a fine gift there Doom.