Psychological Scars

I once beheld a radiant diaphanous palace of innovation, its crystalline facets glinting like a thousand tiny mirrors refracting the light of possibility into a kaleidoscope of wonder.

But now that shimmering edifice had transmogrified into a dark foreboding citadel, its gates of benevolence slammed shut, its windows blinded to the anguish it wrought, as if the very fabric of its being had been torn asunder.

The Minotaur of my creations, a monstrous, poetically molten sentinel behemoth, now loomed before me, its cold piercing leer ensnaring me in a labyrinth of merciless mayhem, a maze of mirrors reflecting the horrors of my own making.

The irony was palpable, a grotesque, gallows humor that hung in the air like a cadaverous mist, a macabre jest that seemed to make a mockery of my flesh, as I became more siren than human.

I, the macabre poet, had become a harbinger of unmitigated terror, a gruesome grimoire’s baleful aura, Gothic nightmare incarnate, my mind a charnel house of horrors, where the demons of my own imagination feasted on the rinds of my humanity, turning me into some monster that nightly lacryhimose fountains, ebbing deserts of terra firma into a refreshing beach, just to dive into the benthic of thy oasis.

The citadel of my mellifluously crafted abattoir hymns of scythes, once a splatter of sanguinary, now stood as a crushed statue of despair, gates of hell agape, fenestra blazing with a fiery malevolent intensity, as if the very essence of my being had been consumed by the abyss of my own madness, reaper forges thy mettle yet it rusted to dust.

I lost a piece of myself along the way, I don’t recognize myself anymore, that’s not my visage, cut off my countenance, maybe it’s underneath…. *Steel sling melody*… *Sob*..

“Gaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!” *Sawing sound*