Agony

Behind the Screams, CKY

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The fleas are still there, hiding in the darkness of the dirty roots below our feet, and they reach out to me with their claws and their teeth. They bite me and I feel ill. I can't sleep at night, because I lay upon the hot coals of hell; my body covered in waves of flame that never end, that pummel me as constantly as the icy cold waters of the sea upon the gritty sandy shore. Only, as I have said before and will say again, this feeling of agony is anything but refreshing.

My mind recoils in longing, and my bones ache at the mere thought of rest. When will this madness end? When will this disease depart from my withered frame?

My legs are covered in boils, and my feet are fleshy lesions without remorse. They ooze and leak, and all I can do is try in vain to keep them clean, but my labor is wanting, and I seem to remain one step behind. It is a mad desire, a crazed conscious that calls out to me in the day and in the night. It sings to me:
Release me,
Release me from this Hell!
End it,
End it.
Tear at it, rip it, destroy it;
Remove it;

End it!
It screams gently in my ear, and it whispers like the hissing of white-hot metal as it is dipped into the cooling quench. It rubs at the folds of my brain with brittle desperate fingers, longing to be heard, longing to be obeyed; to be granted Its one desire would be Its dying wish, and my first regret, for already has it been heard and I have responded. I display the signs of my weakness as scars for all to see. And some have yet to become so, for they will not close up and fade away as It promised.

And when I can, when I find a moment to take a breath and reflect upon my current situation, I wonder if I am still sane?