Dedicated to the ancient, ever-present, sub-dimensioned gods that borrow their way slowly into your mind until your horror turns to unconditional love.
(Or just the Reapers in the Mass Effect video game series by Ubisoft)
There’s something out there in this dim light. You feel its hands around your throat.
The changing of the colors before your eyes, the truths, they’re starting to show.
And as you wonder through that tunnel, you keep your eyes on the floor.
But those whispers tell you to look back up, and you can feel it wanting more.
And oh, so it goes: The monsters that are real are the ones that you can feel
inside. You think that you can smell its hide and can’t just be your mind.
It seems to feast upon your troubles. Grows a garden in your thoughts.
It says that it knows all of your secrets. It begins to list them all off.
And as you reach for the knife at your side, to try and snuff it right out.
But nothing’s there but an old wooden stick, and your screams, they come about - they come about.
And oh, you wanna go back home. But no place like that, that can keep you from what you know. The things that you know, now. You wanna burry yourself alive and rip out all your insides.
and then its hold feels like an embrace. Its eyes a kindness so true.
Of all the wretched souls it could ever take, the one that it chose was you.
And now you sing out hallelujah: no other darkness can you befall.
It is the only thing you’ll ever need, and you only ever wait for when it calls.
And oh, so it goes: the monsters that are real are the ones that you can feel inside, you love the smell its hide, and the way it speaks into your mind.
And oh, it shines like gold. You no longer have a past, it floods into your lungs at last.
It's so surreal, but you just need to let go: now it tells you how to feel.
I’m so sorry that this is the end. Hallelujah, oh, God, it’s the end.
Praise be. Praise be.
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