Poison

My veins are coursing with a foreign substance. A venom. A blight. A poison. I know it all too well. It desecrates everything it touches. My heart, my mind, my soul.

This is not a conventional poison. It does not affect my body. I feel few physical effects from its presence. My body will not wither and die because of it.

But my mind will. And so will my soul.

I feel it turning me. When I close my eyes, all I see is red fire licking at my soul. Slowly corrupting it. Pushing my very existence into an inescapable pit of depravity.

The outside effects arent very noticeable. Not to a casual obsever anyway. But to someone who knows what to look for, the effects are blatantly obvious.

I don't look much different at all, but my mannerisms, and character suffer intensely. I am slowly becoming more sedentary. More reclusive.

Not only is the poison changing my personal, it is also eroding my definition of who I am. I barely feel human. My current visage is such, that I would not recognise myself if I travelled ten years back in time and saw myself as I am now back then. I don't know who I am.

This poison is a representation of everything ill that pulses through the veins in my body, and the neurones in my brain. It is an intense anger, bordering on fury.

It is a lucid hatred for life, and the act of living. It is sadness, in its most distilled and pure form. It is the inability to counteract the pain. Only to cover it up.

It is a voice, a tiny, angry, little voice. A voice that second-guesses every eaction, and every thought.