Horror (Pt. 2)

 I did not want to write about them again.

Yet here I am.

As I jot down whatever I have left out of  my depleting reserves of sanity, I become more attuned to the new presence that envelops me. It is a bit strange really. It is a power for you only to be used against you as well by something altogether more powerful, which takes power away amid mad frenzies of unholy pleasure, pain and everything in between.

As I helplessly surrender to the darkness once more, the infernal screeching grows louder, more defiant. Some deeper recess of my brain strains under this new-fangled burden after a .

I find myself caged in the limbo of uncertainty, eager to return to that which I loathe. The soft sounds of flowing water in a dark, closed-off cavern sets ablaze the flame of wanting, of  giving in. There is some degree of consolation in this submission in that it feels like redemption, suddenly to dissolve into hysteria. 

I was never a religious man, however I did pore over some religious scripture in my youth, out of mere curiosity. Now I turn to it in desperation, only to be overcome by revulsion. Self-exorcisms have a knack for being left in the lurch and I have no faith in the priest.

Peace is a luxury I  cannot afford. It is this journal which shall be my salvation. However, my thoughts break. My sentences come out disorganized and un-structured. Sometimes I forget that I write, so consumed am I , by a barrage of thoughts I feel starting to get just outside my control. I do not fear death, but stasis. 

The fit is upon me again. I must yield, or I shall suffer. Lord have mercy on my soul.