Obsession.

is a funny thing.
It swallows you, tears you
apart from the inside out,
leaving nothing behind but
an empty shell, seeping hate
and need.

At one point, I would have

for my obsession, would have
given anything, given my life
for just one teeny tiny peek at
it. I needed it as I have never
need anything else in my life.

I hated depending on something,

as much as I depended on it. It
was as if I wasn't me, anymore,
wasn't the thing that is myself.
I was something ugly, something
twitching and craving more of
my obsession, my monster. The
thought of going back, back to

made me hate myself even more.

Because that meant that whatever
had been good in the first place,
was gone, maybe never there in
the first place. And so, whatever's

me now, is the same, ugly, rotten,
twitching thing I was Before.
Before I met my monster. Before
I became obsessed.

There was that time, before. But I
can't remember it. Or maybe, I just
choose not to. Those memories are
too painful. So I turned back into
what I am now. The needing,
craving, seething, ugly thing that is

I wonder if that's who I am now.

If that's what the obsession turned me into.
Or if I was born something ugly.