Dark Entity

During my childhood, I used to be scared of the dark.

Every child was at some point.

But I was particularly scared of a dark corner in my room.

Right between my white dresser and the pink wall across from my bed.

The darkness always confused and scared me.

Confused me because I felt like there was something there,

Scared me because I knew something was there.

From time to time, it would come out,

And stroke my dark hair while I was sleeping.

My parents reassured me that it was my grandma who passed when I was young.

But I knew it wasn’t her,

It couldn’t had been.


As an adult,

I travel through my life

Looking for the person in the shadow.

Looking for dark entities to make me feel like a child again.

Dark entities to make me feel safe and loved.

Over time,

I realized I need to become that dark entity.

The one who will love and protect me from the scary world we live in.

If I don’t love or protect myself first, who will?

Like a light switch

On – Off

On – Off

I will give you the world

I will make you want to kill me 

On – off

On – off

I never want to lose you

I hope I get to watch your painful death

On – Off

On – Off

I will give up everything for you

You are nothing, to me and to this world

Off – on 

Off – on

Why would you make me feel this way?

I love you too much to hate you.

Off – on

Off – on

I wish you never existed

I wish I had met you sooner

Off – on

Off – on

You are nothing to me

You are my all


“Why isn’t anyone listening to me? That is not my family! That isn’t my baby! They’ve been replaced, that’s not the child I gave birth to two months ago! Ok, since you’re having a hard time understanding me, I’ll tell you my story and what’s going on all over again.”

“I married my real husband, Freddie Taylor, on May 24th, 2014; it was a nice spring wedding. The wedding was rushed, only because I was with child and didn’t want it to be born out of wedlock; my parents are religious and pretty strict about things of that sort. However, before my wedding and before I found out I was pregnant, I got into a really bad car accident, which led to brain trauma. The pregnancy was a normal one, with normal symptoms and with a normal birth. My real daughter was born on her due date, December 21st, 2014 and her name is Amethyst Taylor.”

“The first night home was when the change, the switch, occurred. When I had fallen asleep, the real Freddie was next to me and the real Amethyst was sleeping in her bassinet inches away from our bed. After being asleep, I would say for four or five hours, I awaken to a baby crying. But the crying was coming from the living room and Freddie and Amethyst weren’t in the room. In a panic, I left the comfort of my bed and creeped downstairs, into the living room to find a man cradling a baby on the living room sofa. Hearing me enter the room caused the man to turn his head to face me and shine a bright, wide-toothed smile at me that made me sick inside.”

“But here’s the thing, Doctor, that wasn’t my baby or my husband on the sofa. It looked like them, yes, but it wasn’t.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t your baby or your husband, aurora?”

 “What do I mean? What do I mean it wasn’t them, Doctor? Why are you questioning me? Just listen to me and you’ll see.”

“As I stood in the hallway, the man turned his attention back to the baby. I took this opportunity to sneak back to the safe of my bedroom. I double checked the room, the bassinet and the bed, in hopes of finding my real husband and child, hiding within the room but to no avail. I laid in bed, questioning my sanity and if I’m dreaming. I know that isn’t my husband or child. They’re imposters dressed up as my real husband and child, but they don’t know I can see through their disguises.”

“Imposters with disguises?”

“Yes! Imposters with disguises, doctor! See you’re getting it!”

“After this incident, I felt a change within myself. I can’t describe it, but I just felt…off at my home and around the imposters. However, when I’m with other people, like family, friends and coworkers, I feel normal. I started changing my clothes a lot and talking out of context, to myself and others. Whenever I was ‘tasked’ to take care of the child, the imposter, I was always uncomfortable. Why would I take care of a child that isn’t mine? That isn’t my Amethyst? What if something bad happens to her or my husband? What if the imposters hurt them? Why are you questioning me, Doctor, and not getting the police involved to question them? “

“I have to do my job during the evaluation, aurora.”

“This stress about the state of my child and husband has made me depressed. I want my real family back, my real life back. I don’t want to keep going on with my life if I have to continue to live without my real family. My mental health hasn’t been doing well, which is why I am here now, but I reassure you that I will be perfectly fine once I find the real Freddie and Amethyst.”

“Based on this evaluation, your brain trauma and the symptoms you are describing to me, I am starting to believe you are suffering from Capgras Delusion.”

“Capgras Delusion? Can you explain further, Doctor?”

“Capgras Delusion is a delusional misidentification syndrome where individuals affected believe someone close to them has been placed with an exact duplicate. Some treatment options are validation therapy and antipsychotics”

 “Is that what you people think I have? I knew you all thought I was crazy, but I’m not. I know that isn’t my family!” Therapy and antipsychotics for treatment? There’s nothing wrong with me! I’m just a regular woman whose family has been taken away from her and replaced with imposters and I’m the problem? This is insane and you’ll hear from my lawyer about this.”

Like me

And on the 12th day, the universe created girls like me

Girls who manipulate, lie and use to get their way

Girls who love to be babied by the men they take advantage of

Girls who daydream about harm, to themselves and others

Girls who will always choose violence and mischief

Girls who enjoy hurting people and watching them break into piece

Girls who hide their true selves behind an attractive face

Girls who only fear being ripped open and their unsightliness being displayed

We are not in competition

You and I.

Me and you.

We aren’t the same.

I am your competition, but you are not mine.

My tongue is sharp and I can cut you into pieces with a simple three word sentence.

My eyes can kill you with one single glance.

My hands are lethal and I could kill you with my thumb.

Any ill intentions towards me? Keep it to yourself.

You can’t go against me as I am what you can never be.

I am a leader,

I am clever,

I am intelligent,

I am stable,

I am charming, 

and I am gorgeous.

I am all,

You are nothing.

You are not me and I am and will never be you.

Loving you isn’t enough

It wasn’t enough to love you.

It wasn’t enough to love you the way normal couples loved each other.

I wanted to show you something new and different, something unique and soul-binding.

I want to open up the folds of the universe and dig deep to find a new heavenly way to love you.

I want to unearth the dead languages of the world to express how much I adore you.

Gods, angels, demons will weep at the love I have and express for you.

I want, I need to become you.

I need to possess you. 

I need to love you in a way that has existed long ago.

I need to become it. 

Become the being that terrifies you, but you can’t seem to get away.

Isn’t that romantic?

Romantic Urges

The urge to run my stiletto nails down his dark skin.

The urge to enter his dreams whenever I’m away from him.

The urge to learn dead languages of the world just to express my love for him.

The urge to perform binding rituals together whenever the moon is full.

The urge for him to leave bruises on my heart-shaped ass.

The urge to possess him and allow him to possess me.

The urge to turn myself into his worst nightmare.

The urge to cover ourselves in our own blood and swear to never leave each other.

The urge to destroy anything that gets in the way of our obsession with each other.



On November 14th, 2002, I, Ari, was welcomed into this ruthless, cruel world with pieces of humanity scattered around it.

I came in with a rough start. Having low pulses which lead to my mother having an emergency C-section while my father folded towels.

My childhood is a blur, but I had happy and sad moments.

My mother and father were interesting people and showed me what the real world was like at a young age.

Showed me how to be utterly cruel to someone and turning around and pretending like it never happened.

My mother was, and still is, absolutely gorgeous and I envied her as a child.

Thankfully, I took on her looks.

My father knew how to make money and used it to make up for his absence in my childhood.

Thankfully, I’m materialistic.

I was good in school, but the people at school weren’t good to me.

I learned how to manipulate and punch people in the stomach while giving them a hug.

Detroit kids ain’t no joke, neither are the suburban kids.

I can easily look someone in their eyes and tell them a lie with no mercy at all.

I can hurt someone and knows that it had to happen.

Someone has to endure it and it won’t be me anymore.

Now, I’m nineteen.

In college, transferring schools.

I have the potential to be a success,

The potential to be a psychopath.

I have the potential to mess up my entire life,

The potential to mess up someone else’s entire life.

I have the potential to be a horrible, disturbed human being who ruins everything they touch



B.D or B.P.D

I feel high, jumpy and touchy. My mind races with millions of thoughts, some gentle, many violent. The consequences of my actions don’t bother me, I did what I did and I’ll do it again.

No care, no care in the world. No care, no care.

I take every opportunity to dance with anyone. I sit on fences and don’t commit. I try different things, different risks just to see the outcome. I’m a broken instrument, unable to be fixed.

No care, no care in the world. No care, no care.

I’m done, tired and slowed down. I feel no pleasure and the things I like seem dull. The number on the scale begins to drop, but I still look heavy. The only place I would like to be is in my bed, laying on my tear-stained pillow. Suddenly, self-slaughter doesn’t seem so bad.

I don’t care, I don’t care anymore. I don’t care, I don’t care.

I’m a regret. My demons talking to me again. I can’t sit in a single class without thinking about ways I could end it right there and then. The thoughts and headaches increase, I can’t be alone.

I don’t care, I don’t care anymore. I don’t care, I don’t care.

I’m hostile, violent and resentful. If you even look at me the wrong way, I will snap. I daydream about taking a hammer and bashing someone’s head in with it. It’s obvious I don’t want to be bothered.

Why, Why should I care? Why, why should I?

I’m unstable, I think about the terror I could raise, how I could ruin everything in a matter of seconds. My blood is boiling, my mind is about to explode. I could kill someone right now. Why? Because I do as I please.

Why, why should I care? Why, why should I?