An Anxious Voice

They never asked me for my opinion nor pondered on the fact that maybe I’m not as evil as they make me out to be.

I am the eerie voice in their head that feeds on their pain and anguish a sight that fills me with so much glee and satisfaction

I tell them what they want to hear that; they are nothing and will never be anything but insecure and worthless.

Irony, a sadist reminding me the harder I push them into the abyss the tighter they’ll cling onto me and drag us both to hell.

I don’t want them to die for I need a vessel to manifest my presence in the world.

Alas I watch them bang their head against the wall fully aware that if I pushed any further, I’m damned along with them.

You scoff and judge me as though you had no part to play, yet I watched you emotionally tear them down to pieces ready for me to devour.

How kind of you to treat me with such a feast

Compliments to the chef

The Bitter Poet