I am not a piece of art to hang on your wall, I am the roaring ocean that you struggle to stay afloat in.
I am not a song to be played on repeat, my voice is the deafening scream that rings in your ears long after I’ve gone.
I am not a rose waiting to be picked, I am the fire that burns forests to the ground.
I am not the ghost haunting your dreams, I am the demon who has come for your soul.
I am not to be consumed, I have come to consume.