Soul of a Knightmare

By Knightmare Elite

God, save me from this pain stemming from my soul.

I cry, I die all for what I am told.

It is always the same whenever they say my name.

It’s not for who I am but simply what I am.

This is my solace of plain and pure.

For their acceptance so much bullshit I must endure.

I can’t stand the feeling of being alone, but my stance is always so monotone.

Why couldn’t I be a little stronger not just a simple drone?

No one understands what its am like to be me.

They look at me down with such contempt and pity.

I am human I cut and I bleed but that is why they stare.

Across my temple of a body shows the markings of recourse I bear.

They look at me all and smile straight to my face.

Turn away then pause for an empathetic embrace.

What the fuck do they think they can erase?

Can a little affection and smile turn my pain to waste?

I hurt because I choose to bear a pain so pure.

It is all I have in this world I can physically endure.

They take my soul and slash my pride.

I only want what is left inside.

I hurt because it’s all I know, the only door I cannot shut.

From their eyes I could be a sick freak who would cut.

In reality that isn’t such the case, I’m too pussy to touch a blade.

I hide behind this shallow masquerade for only time it will bade.

Time is my friend for it is quit limitless all power in its glory.

It’s what I use to wallow in my pitiful life of a story.

Who am I many people wonder, am I really darkness emanating from your heart?

No such luck, I am merely where all your questions start.

I cry and bleed then purge my pain on digital paper.

My soul so dark without this light my writing turns my essence to vapor.

I am free in that form to infect all who read.

See my soul, my life, and my literary seed.

Oh but why God have you created one such as me.

I exist simply to feel within a world I can never see.

I am ignorant of this very humanity so powerful yet I am so trite.

All I have is your gift to me, the ability to write.