The Sleeping, Watchful Thing

It watches from gloom. Thing of shadow, formless, Nameless. Stirs within abyss, Summoned forth by thoughts of evil, thoughts of bliss. I shaped it, gave it breath. A beast that needs no cause or creed, haunts a void where horrors breed. Dark energy swells, Writhing madness dwells. Pretty face, voice, and grace, A husk untied. No time's embrace. It bends my sight to realms obscene. Shows me sites all men have seen. When rites profane hands commit, it lingers close, hunger lit. Through portal torn from mortal bond, I sit on a mound. A covenant—unholy and trite, Where void opens revealing light, pulls me throughout the night. Walls dissolve in swirling blight, Starts to claw, distorting sight. My scribe records its fevered will, My ink distorts, yet flows still. The words take shape, they call, curse that binds and damns us all. At dusk, I lash myself in chains, Mute its cries, mask its pains. Yet sleep betrays. Foul dream hold, Fingers numb. Grip makes my spirit plead, Wills me to be unclean. It watches, ageless blight within light. No prayer repels, no plea. Soul confined, A nameless force I heed, scribed in life, it owns my mind. A diary of malice, diary of a hideous, living controlling malice.