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Like a disease crawling beneath my skin,
Feeding on my feeble mind,
Dragging me back in again,
Without any reasoning that I can find;


Breaking through the silent whispers,
Sneaking through the mist,
Melting my blisters, and
Healing my wrists;


But in being the disease that you are,
I wake from the dream, Of you
As Lucifer, the fallen star,
And fade against the sun beam;


The end to all my pain,
And to all of my miseries,
My own personal demon,
My grave disease;


Haunting the present,
With the calm foreboding of the future.