How Well Do You Know Me?

How well do you know me?
All you know about me is nothing but an ineffable tale.
I never told you that I’m fearful of nocturnal;
for the demons I hunt when I’m awake, hunt me in my sleep.
Covered in wolf’s blood,
parched body,
hollow eyes I often wander into the graveyard at twilight;
as I stand on top of a grave,
I wonder how many royal bones sleep within these heaps of stones.
Today I trailed a trail of blood;
the scenario of its origin would destroy mankind.
I had some shocking memories as a kid,
visons of blood dripping from my hands as a faceless man lies on the operating table contiguous to me, to vivid to be a nightmare.
Again I ask,
how well do you know me?
"The grave’s a fine and private place",
my demons have told me.
I wear the bruises on my neck like a necklace that destiny gave me that one faithful night I ought to end it all.
How well do you know me?
Did I ever tell you I’d open up a man just to catch sight of what’s inside his torso;
nourishing my ‘dark’ obsession of the physiological mechanics of mankind? Did I ever tell you how my soul is a battlefield,
upon which my sanity and judgement wage war against passion and appetite. Did I ever tell you this was all in my head? I lied.