that.

This Dark Beast, with crinkled, cozy, velvet flesh, calling to me... with pillows for fingers and zipper teeth. At even the slightest temptation of its offerings I fall prey to it. I sink deep into the soft blackness, swarmed within it, cozy and oh so terrifying. It strips away the glimmers of light leaving only the charred remains. The scraps. The crumbs of what once was. And I let it envelope me like quicksand because sometimes fighting it isn't worth the effort. The Dark Beast is seductive and familiar and probably the most honest of all; it is when I ignore it that I'm living a fantasy. My blood is thick with it now. With its black glistening eyes, peering at me from the shadows, the only one who truly sees me, who is ever present, here. It is a heaviness not unlike those lead aprons they put on you when you get x-rays at the dentist. Just like that. Just. Like. That. This hollow ache that turns over on itself, creating thorny, dry, itchy tumbleweeds in my guts, churning and gnawing. I dive deep into the murky velvet... swallow me, Beast. I am yours.