It feeds, Waiting

There is a deamon deep within,
feeding off my anger.
Waiting until I'm crossed again,
getting stronger with each pulse.

There is a screw coming loose,
deep within my head
Waiting for a tear to drop,
So it wiggles out of place.

There is a crack within my heart
that bleeds because I lie.
Waiting until I smile with force,
so it can break some more.

With my deamon deep within,
With my screw coming loose,
And with the crack that's in my heart,
the mortician pronounced me dead.