Brick Wall

I wrote this many years ago, deliberately intended to be a tool for anyone that read it to face their own fear. At first glance, this might read like a demonic possession, but, to me, it was about my fear of singing. What do you see in that brick wall?

There's this part of me
that people never see.
They don't see it because I won't let them.
It's not really me.
It's not who I am,
but it wants to be.
Sometimes, I want it to be too.
That's what scares me.

It's always whispering in my ear,
telling me to do things I would never do.
I try my very best to ignore it,
because if I listen...
I'll want to let it out.
I would become the thing,
as it would become me.

Keeping it at bay is an endless battle—
a war with no end.
But I find strength in knowing this:
It's just as much a prisoner of me
as I am of it.
We suffer each other
in agony... and delight.

I can feel it—
just beneath the surface.
Waiting. Watching.
Snarling. Growling.
Clawing at the back of my mind.

One moment of weakness—
and the thing would be free
to plague, infest, and soil the world.
I constantly feel its hunger,
and if I don't watch myself carefully...
I might want to let it out.

There is no escape.
Only torment everlasting.
For both of us.

When I close my eyes,
I see it within myself.
In the dark, it surrounds me
like a warm blanket.

My mirror image...
The shadow at my feet...
My twisted soul, reflected.
Corrupted. Bleeding. Broken.
Blacker than death, darker than night.
And yet—
it makes me smile.

The constant battle is exhausting.
This must be punishment.
What did I do to deserve this?
The question becomes
a blinding white noise in my head—
so loud
I can’t feel my fingernails breaking
as they claw the flesh off the back of my skull.

Boiling blood.
Exploding thoughts.
Cries that should pierce the eye of God—
and yet,
no answer.
I fall to my knees.
I am the forsaken.

The noise fades.
Blood on my hands.
My skull throbs
with every heartbeat.

"What have I done to myself?"
I lie down.
I feel the darkness come.
Pain—pure and present.
A beacon.
An anchor.

I smile
as I fall
into unconsciousness.

The thing has me strung up—
barbed wire,
bones cut open,
no pain.
Just horror.

It tears someone apart
while I twist,
frothing at the mouth,
becoming rage!

And when I fight it...
I become it.
Only to realize
it's myself
I'd be slaughtering.

I wake.
Eyes wide.
Breath ragged.
Tears falling.
Snarling.

The wall is down.
The thing is loose.
And it feels good.

Twisting thoughts.
Becoming me.
But I fight.
I close my eyes—
and I build.

Brick by brick.
Forcing it back.
Suppressing the beast.

Until I’m in control again.

But it’s always there.
Just behind that wall.
Waiting.
Watching.
Snarling.
Growling.
Clawing.

And when I look in the mirror now…
I see myself.
Looking back at the thing.

And I don’t know why—
but that makes me smile.