I am dark inside and with each passing moment I an only slipping deeper into the chasm.
You reach for me seeking pink, sweet kindness, but I have none.
I am filled with poison. It oozes out of me, my breath, my words, the black syrup of death.
This is why everyone goes away. Because of the black within me.
It lurks in the shadows of my life and pounces on me when I am weak. It eats my soul and regurgitates it back into the prison of my body. The soiled remnants wallow in my mind, taunting me with who I want to be and cannot seem to be.
I will infect you with my touch. The black syrup will spill over you and cause you pain, causing you to reel backwards with disdain. I am black poison. It emanates from every pore, every cell.
I reach for the light, sunshine, goodness, in hopes to feel myself again, to heal myself again. The shroud of ugly, thick, black syrup locks me down and keeps me from the goodness that lies beyond my grasp.
I am bereft of hope. The black syrup of pain engulfs me. It owns me. It shall always be.