What is scary to you?

Do I really care?

Scary might be a body turned blue

Covered in feline hair.

But maybe what scares you most,

is something out of you hand,

your son's corpse splayed out on a wooden post,

or a bandstand without a band?

For me, though, that's nothing,

my demon's deeper down,

for every time I see my face,

I force myself to drown.

I haven't been successful yet,

much to everyone's dismay,

alas, I failed to kills myself,

and the real fear sets it: I must stay.