Poison

It's a poison. This feeling, this evil. A fire coursing through my veins. Boiling my blood, it rises to my face. A crimson red appears just underneath my skin. Nobody shows that they see, and now I realize, they never did. I'm a shadow, a dark spot in the background of a photograph. The only reason I exist is to emphasize the people around me. But she noticed. Brought me out of the background. At least to me. Rarely speaking in person, especially when around other "friends". But I didn't care.. at first. Then something happened. Nothing changed. Nothing was supposed to, otherwise it would have. She's a poison, one that I willingly take daily. Killing me daily. It's murder, the way she makes me feel. The way she kills me. Makes me believe, then I begin to doubt, and with the wrong words she unknowingly ends me. Am I a poison to anyone, do I make them hurt with good intentions? Do I kill them the way she kills me? Or now that she's been gone, have I faded back into the background again?

So, did I mention I have a thing for sentence fragments?

The Forest

Suicide flashes through his mind again. Watching his life fall apart before his eyes. Hearing the mocking laughter of his so-called friends. Seven months planning. He prepared for this moment, but he couldn't take it. A year of working up the courage to try, took only 5 minutes to destroy. He runs, tears in his eyes. But he has no where to run to. Even the voice of reason in his head laughs at him now. Reminding him how he could never have succeeded anyway. Telling him he'd never be good enough to think about trying again. Eyes closed and sprinting through the forest, he slams headfirst into a tree. Throwing his bag to the ground and letting out a scream of hatred for himself, he sits with his back resting on the trunk of the tree. Tired, embarrassed, and emotionally bleeding, he wishes only for release from this damning world. He reaches into his bag and his hand comes out holding a wicked looking dagger. Not knowing or caring how it got there, he closes his eyes and prepares for the end. He pulls the dagger towards his chest, waiting for the piercing pain of death to claim him. But it never comes. Then he feels the hands pulling his wrists back. Even with his eyes closed he knew who it was. He could feel the guilt in those hands. The pain of knowing that she drove him to this. She separates the blade from his hands as he opens his eyes. Looking at him, she realizes that this is the first time she has truly looked at him. Seen past the pathetic exterior that hides the being within. She reaches for the dagger, looking him in the eyes. He knows what she's thinking, what she wants. He reaches into his bag once more and comes out with a blade identical to the first. Positioning the blades over each others hearts, they share a kiss. Their first, their last. Then they die. Their souls joining the many who have fallen victim to the magic of this cursed forest. It can grant you the love of your life, but only in the afterlife.

No, this story is not about anyone. Everybody that has read it has either said that they know who it's about, or they want to know. That's all for now Drones, later.
-The Virus

Nightmare

Black sky. Blood moon. A scream echoes from somewhere in the distance. This is my town, plenty different from yours. Blazing sunlight. Skyscrapers. Music being played in a park. No, nothing like that. There you have order, laws, police. There your children can play in the streets without being taken by some unseen stranger. Yes, what a perfect little world. What a scene, something right out of a dream. But not in my town. Here we have no laws, no order, no police. Here your children would be killed and raped by the very people you live with. Here, chaos and destruction prevail. Here, crime goes without punishment. Here people die slowly as they burn for entertainment. Here people are tortured for fun. Here is where true devils carry out their sick twisted deeds. And even sadder, we are the people that your town needs. For we are the reason your laws were created. We whose sick minds would not be sedated. We who have been exiled from your world, wish only to return. To give you something to fear at night. To draw from your fear our own delight. We who have slaughtered and killed your friends, have now returned.

So let's begin...

This is one of my pieces that I posted to allpoetry.com, so as far as I've been told, it's got an automatic copyright on it. Or something like that.

Later Drones.

-The Virus