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I dunno.. I felt the need for more of my mediocre poetry. This one's nice and happy.. twisted

I am the chill that runs down your spine,
as your eyes dart around, yet nothing you find
I am the voice running through your head,
with face in your hands, when you wish you were dead
I am the wind that bites at your skin,
as you shiver for warmth, yet find none within
I am the hand that grasps at your heart,
tightens it's grip, rips it apart

I am the venom that pumps through your veins,
as your strength starts to wane, but you can't complain;
The feeling's life's bane, but you're not quite sane,
so your greatest freedom becomes your pain