Snakes and monsters don’t just crawl in the dark—
they feast.
They slither into your mind,
wrap around your heart,
sink their fangs into your spirit.

They eat your soul.
They hollow you out until nothing’s left but a shell.
A living ghoul.
A body walking without light.

They turn you into a zombie,
not to devour your flesh,
but to gnaw at your mind,
to strip you of reason,
to make you crave the poison that killed you.

They bite like vampires,
not for blood,
but for emotions.
They feed on your joy,
sip on your hope,
drain you until all that remains
is a husk of who you used to be.

They are emotional parasites.
And parasites never stop feeding—
unless you burn them out,
cut them off,
tear them from your veins.

Because if you don’t,
you’ll wake one day
not as yourself—
but as the monster
they’ve made of you.