A stain on my soul
That can’t seemed to be scrubbed off.
It lies atop this new sheen,
A fault in the armor seeming strong.
This scar on my soul
Twitches and burns a little tonight.
It’s small now, no more the disfiguring ugliness.
But the pain hasn’t seemed to shrunk.
The wolves of insanity lie just beyond the gate,
Deep in forests forgotten that they have claimed.
Masterless and filled with a cold dread, a deathly malice,
A void of reason or emotion.
They howl tonight. Screeching and yowling,
Calling, tempting, demanding
Flesh. Sacrifice. Death. Blood. Union.
But peace is not theirs to give.
Welcome to my night.
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