I can’t let them get the upper hand.
I need sleep.
If I lie here awake too much longer…
They’ll come back.

Filthy fucking bastards.
They’ll come back, and steal my soul again.
They’ll leave me here, a restless, empty husk.
But they’ll take my soul, and they’ll tie me up.
And they’ll make me watch.

They’ll make me see what I don’t want to see.
They’ll make me hear what I don’t want to hear.
They’ll drill it all into my head.

They don’t let me forget.

They never let me forget.

Force feeding me images and words and feelings, oh all those feelings I do not want.
Laughing like giddy twisted little children the more I scream or cry out.
Holding me down.
Tormenting me endlessly.

Filthy fucking bastards.
How they mock me.
How they get off on my suffering.
It’s what keeps them alive…

It’s what created them.

My suffering.
My torment.