Dread

Your words are final

Fiery spikes to the

Eardrum

That makes me feel

Like practicing

All sorts of

Destruction

On myself.

Wrenching my eyes

From their sockets

Is only the beginning

The bare

Minimum.

Help the succulent veins

Break free from

My body.

These wrists are needed

No longer.

Peel away

The skin

The flesh

From the bone.

See the tunnels

Of death

Dawning.

Only now

Can I feel

Alive.

Hairs scraped

From their roots.

This is most definitely

Your

Worst

Nightmare.

But not for me…

Soon I will escape

Your wicked clutches

Of despair.

No longer will I feel

Dread.

My Hell on Earth

I will leave you.

Then…

You will wish

You never said

Those final words.