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I lie in bed, as it's another night drowning beneath my sheets. I can't seem to escape these emotions that always catches me off guard.

I am struggling with my own existence because any emotions that gives a human's existence pleasure enough to desire life is but a distant memory.

I have forgotten the guilty pleasures of the world. Selfish desires to please ones own essence that now nourishes me. But I starve because of my own inner turmoil. Succubus, drains me at every opportunity. I feed her soul as my masochistic nature is her buffet.

How can the dead live? I sustain, the devil's whores, and I shall come from under the covers to serve myself again for pain is the closest I have to ever feeling alive.