Something...

Perhaps I am mad,
perhaps I cannot be right,
but all about me,
I feel something wrong.
I think that I have been deceived.
Even when I cured the disease,
I had thought my troubles would be solved,
I thought that I could keep it from spreading,
keep the festering contained within my heart,
but even now,
I Feel it in my soul, my mind,
I see it in the ones around me,
death cannot solve this.
For this is no mortal wound.
No salve may heal it,
Nor can my will undo it.
If I must,
what to do?
I see it in their eyes,
I feel it in their smiles,
I see the rot,
the emotions soured and curdled.
I feel them turning on me,
Mania, pure and brutal,
under the iron mask I wear,
I see flames in my own eye,
as heat and fire grip my mind.
One death would not be enough.
My death would not make it go away.
An eternity of darkness could not quench it,
nor a life of fear.
Why me?
Why do I feel any longer.
I have locked it all away.
Why do these emotions still arise.
Let them end,
Let them end.
No more love,
No more grief.
I have given them up.
I have locked them away.
I have restrained them,
intending to release them one day.
Let them end
Let them end.
They are nothing,
They are in my head,
they do not exist.
I am in control.
I am my own master.
No force may unseat me.
I am all that is to myself,
let them cease,
as I have bade them.
I must remain myself.
I must remain collected,
lest the world reveal me.
I shall let the fires roar,
Let the ruined sprigs of love,
joy, hate, and grief wither,
Let the ones around me respect me yet longer.
Death shall not be fitting.
I must first douse myself.
I must first regain myself.
Death shall be my last measure,
regardless of how much I shan't hurt.
I will survive.
How fitting,
Should a wildfire,
dress in the guise of iron,
That he should burn away,
until only a shell remains.