This Beast in Me

So I am sitting here, an ache somewhere inside of me, and I cant figure it out. It’s gnawing at me, like some wild thing that you let loose, tearing me apart inside with claws sharp as razors and teeth blunt as a fork. Its saliva, I swear, is lemon juice, and I just need it to go to sleep for a little while. But it wont stop biting, tearing, chewing me up. It wont stop and I am afraid that I will have to stop it soon, shut it up and make the howling stop. Oh yeah, it howls too. An incessant noise of passion, driving my mind insane with the things that it says. Yes, it says things. Awful things of love and hate, passion and life long living. I hate this beast more than I hate you, more than I despise you for putting it there. The only thing is, I don’t hate you at all. In fact, I am afraid that I love you. I say afraid because if I love you, then I love this beast as well. And that scars me. Scars me enough to want to kill it, leave its mangled body for all to see, a spectacle for tourists of my mind to point in awe. “That’s the beast that drove her mad” they’ll say. “That’s the thing she loved.” And as they point in wonder, I will lay there, unable to get up after I fell for you.