She Is Me

She is me

"Slash it."
She whispers.
I refuse,whimper.

Am I mad? I wonder.
Or is it my parylysed decision?
I refuse. I must not.
Yet, I make the incision.

The mirror?
A liar.
It fuels her fire.

She calls me a coward.
Says I cannot play along.
And then a sudden thought pierces,
Is Hell the only place I belong?

When I am myself,
I cannot forgive my sins.
I have two faces.
But the Devil always wins.

I try to run.Hide.
Escape. Survive.

Since together,we are a mess
That awakens a darkness,
I cannot profess.

One cannot live,
while the other survives.
She cannot be killed.
On my goodness,she thrives.

Numb.I cut.
My concience,I try to shut.

As the man's throat bleeds
His eyes hold horrors on which she feeds.

Red seeps on to my knife.
I cannot fathom.
It is me.
I am his wife.

I am destined.
The Lord says.
To remain eternally trapped.
To never be freed.

You are mad, she whispers to me.
"Bleed. Let it bleed." It is then,I realise.
The she,is me.

---

Thanks for lovely picture, Pixabay

Thanks for all support, Follow me @mindfreak