Lately it’s been surfacing through my waking hours. It seems that it is slowly taking control of me. Even my friends have noticed how different my behavior has been. They think I’m depressed or I’m going crazy, but they’re wrong. If they only knew the real reason; I’m confused. I need to rest. I need to escape before it kills me, or even worse I kill it. It has such a thirst for revenge, an overwhelming desire to serve its own self-righteousness. To destroy and obliterate any ideas contrary to what it believes to be its god-like truth. And any violent action it takes is then proven correct and is thus served accordingly, with cruelty, pain, and death.
It has planted a seed of hatred in me, so ingrained that if I don’t keep it smoldering within me I will not be whole. The difference between my hate and its hate is that mine is soiled, impure. My hatred does not come from disgust for myself, but for that of it. It just hates and despises itself and uses this as an excuse to hurt others. I just hate other people, an outright expression of human nihilism, this is selfish; I don’t understand why but it seems right. Will I kill it, or shall I annihilate… power scorches my sinews, it knows what I will do. My God! It’s so deafening, so bright!
Gray sky, cold drizzle, strong wind driven with a mediocre intent, daylight locked away overshadowed by tricks of the mind. What bothers me the most on days such as these is the drizzle. It sticks to your skin, freezing your flesh, wrapping you in a blanket of silent discomfort. The drizzle weakens your soul, hammering depression, spiking it deep inside your soul. That’s when I know something’s wrong; I can feel when horrible things will happen. I sometimes view myself as a raven. The messenger of the doom; a harbinger of ill tidings.
A sickness follows me blazing like the sterile tail of a comet, the bastard afterbirth forged, in the cradle of the universe’s birth.
©️ written ~ 2020. Jacob Pickard.2026
