Dead Space

He has his own army, the beasts in his head. He can't think straight, he feels mostly dead. At times terminally ill, as the voices of dread will not chill. The anger and hatred that build inside will someday loose like the arrows fly. Blot out the stars and moon for darkness he consumes. Stalk the night like a strange being. The thoughts wage war on his split soul. Emotionless, yet curious of all he's ever known. Feeling like a creepy crawly creature, he's just there. Using up someone else's breath, so unfair. what's this life for he wonders? will he ever wake from his slumber?