The Winter Feast Will Be The Birthing Pool Of My Self Doubt

The voice trapped inside my head yearns to escape,

Thrusting its malformed frame around its cell,

How beautifully destructive it is as the walls call forth its cries,

Drowning out those of my own with its echoes,

A light extinguished,

A becoming reversed,

An undoing,

The countdown grows stronger as its rebirth draws near,

97 days until the planets align,

97 days until the beginning begins anew,

97 days for the whispering to grow louder,

Can’t you already hear it?

Do you dare try?

Do you dare face that which grows within your own womb as well as mine?

Welcome to my disease….

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