It was complusive. I had no choice, the actions were not mine.

Not mine.

It wasn’t me… that wasn’t me who did that. I was someone else, something else had taken over.

Taken over.

They take me over. They help me most of the time, except for times like these. The times where I can’t control it.

I can’t control it.

They take over my system, my head, and then I’m not me. I’m on the outside, watching as I do everything they make me do… it makes me do. I’m just watching, there is nothing I can do.

Nothing I can do.

But at the end of the day, I’m the only one left. I’m the one who gets blame, who get’s left with the mess… the blood… the tears… that they left behind. I’m the one with the concience, with the heart.

The broken heart.

I’m the one left with the fear. The fear that they’ll come back.