The Dark Poem by Dallas Carter

She taunts me when no one is looking,
Takes over my mind after the sun runs away.
Leaves me empty hearted, stranded on the sidewalk,
Wishing she didn't know me so well.

But she holds the keys to my imagination,
She can read every thought that comes across my mind.
She knows I love you, and she uses that against me.
I wish I could explain to you everything she does to me.

But how can I? She acts out of pure evil, for that is all she really is.
And I can't escape her, I can't run from her, I can't hide from her
Because she knows the ins and outs of my head better than I do.
How do you escape from the demon that rules over you?

The answer is you can't.
I can't.
She is a part of me now.
She will never leave me.

Her hair is blacker than oil, and looks wet.
Her skin is a dull gray, like that of a stone creature.
She wears a black dress that clings to her figure.
And her fingers are twisted, with long, pointed, black nails.

But nothing is worse to look at than her face,
Where her eyes should be there are only empty sockets.
Her lips are dry and cracked, her teeth crooked and dirty.
And something, what exactly I'm not sure, black running streaks down her face.

The Darkness that comes from her seems to radiate fear on its own.
It comes in a cloud, thicker than any smoke I've ever seen.
Sometimes I wonder if the Darkness itself is thick enough
To choke someone before she can even get to them.

The Dark wanders aimlessly around my house,
Showing up when I feel the most abandoned.
She drowns me in Darkness, closing off my air supply,
Then she releases me, let's me go for a while.

I can get a Priestly Blessing for temporary relief,
But she always comes back.
She never fully leaves me, she drifts away just long enough
For me to question my own sanity level.

I spent weeks, months, jumping, expecting her to come
But she doesn't, she stays away.
Until one day, when I'm the lowest of lows,
She comes back, bits at a time.

It starts with the nightmares and the visions.
Not necessarily visions, more like flash images.
They keep me awake at night, terrified, wanting to close my eyes
And make them go away for good.

But I can't, it's not possible.
You can't escape something that's been following you since childhood.
The images that play across my eyelids every time they shut.
The dreams that wake me up in the middle of the night.

Sometimes I know the people in the visions.
Sometimes I'm glad I can't make sense of the disoriented faces.
Because I know if I could I would see someone I love.
Like the night I watched her take a blade to my siblings.

The visions are the first sign, next comes the feelings.
I feel like someone is watching me, waiting for me.
It feels like they're right behind me, just staring at my back.
I can feel the unseen eyes now, as I sit in my room, writing this poem.

Sometimes I can see her when she visits me,
Sometimes I can only sense her presence and intentions.
Sometimes she just hovers in a corner, feeding off my fear,
Other times she tries to hurt me, both directly and indirectly.

I know things about her that she doesn't want me to know.
But she knows things about me that I don't want her to know.
I know she can't reach me when I'm at church,
But she knows that I love you, and to see you hurt would kill me internally.

I'm surprised she hasn't gone after you yet,
But maybe that's because I'm not there to see it,
I'm not there to feel it.
Maybe the distance between us is good, it keeps you safe.

She's coming back soon, I can feel it happening again.
I feel the unseen eyes digging holes into my shoulder blades.
It's been a few weeks since my last Priestly Blessing.
There's really no telling how much time I have until she comes.

Maybe one day I'll have the ability to fight the Dark head on.
But I doubt it.
All I can do myself is recite the Scriptures and pray,
But that will only hold until morning.

Maybe it's not an evil spirit attached to me,
Maybe I'm just psychotic.
Maybe the doctor was right, maybe my mom was right.
Maybe there is no Dark, but rather, I'm just crazy.

Hallucinations are a symptom of schizophrenia.
But schizophrenic people don't believe that they're schizophrenic.
I think it a possibility, which in a sense out rules it from possible, right?
Which in turns makes me think I'm not, so is it possible that I am?

I can no longer self assess my own levels of thinking,
But if I asked for your opinion and judgement,
Would you think I'm a lunatic?
Would you run, or would you stay and help me?

I don't know if I even know what it is I just asked you.
I might have just asked for you to put yourself in harm's way.
And if I did, then I'm doing what she wants.
Because she wants to hurt you to get to me.

Maybe you should stay away from me,
Maybe she's inside my head, trying to convince you to get closer.
Whatever I am, whether it be crazy or haunted,
I leave that choice up to you to decide.