My Life is that of a Monster. A Murderous Man.

My life is upon my dark and dreary home. The light has not reached my face since my cursed birth. The house's shades are all pulled tight, they only open when the sky sheds its light and turns into the night. I read and read and read until the graceful sleep takes me into the suffocating darkness of the corners deeop in my mind. The darkness consumes me, body and soul. It welcomes me, caresses me, and takes me whole. Skeletons fill the closets and candle light stains the walls. Cobwebs cover every entry way and every hall. the tears I shed are not for me, but for who I was, who I was meant to be. Twas an accident, I didn't mean to. My life is now that of a monster. I don't deserve the light, the love, the cheer. Just the damp dark cobweb filled home. I do not allow visitors to come over. They must leave immediately. They do not know my past, my horrors, my obsession. Their life is valueable to them and indeed I have a problem, and addiction, an obsession. It's far better they go away and treasure their lives for I will soon take them. My life is that of a monster. A murderous man, not yet suspected by the police. Sometimes I slip and escape my home to satisfy my need, my problem, my addiction, my obsession. Every life that I had taken, I do not regret, but I know I must stop someday. I attend everyone of their funerals and look upon the deathly art I have made. I giggle in glee to myself. Oh god I need help. My life is that of a monster. A murderous man.