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Minio Nigeria Student @ Student-Babcock University
In Psychology 2 min read
Addicted to Their Darkness
<p>I fall into their stories like a sickness </p><p>page after page, scene after scene, </p><p>breathing in their madness as if it were air.</p><p>Every headline, every broken photograph,</p><p>even whispered name in the dark</p><p>I collect them like a prayer I don't dare speak aloud</p><p><br/></p><p>I don't flinch at the blood</p><p>I don't look away from the horror</p><p>Instead, I lean closer,</p><p>trying to catch the moment it all unraveled,</p><p>the exact second a human became something else</p><p><br/></p><p>I watch the movies until my eyes burn,</p><p>reading until the world outside disappears.</p><p>Their faces blur into each other, </p><p>Mothers who ignored their cries, fathers who broke their trust </p><p>A thousand tiny cut that dug deeper into their skin</p><p>I wonder if they cried the first time</p><p>If they even know what they had become</p><p>Or did it feel good</p><p>like freedom, power perhaps or even the feeling of finally being seen</p><p><br/></p><p>And sometimes </p><p>when I see the pleasure in their eyes</p><p>when they smile at the pain they cause</p><p>the bodies they leave behind</p><p>I feel something deeper inside me</p><p>Not horror</p><p>disgust? no</p><p>But a dark fascination</p><p>an aching need to understand how suffering could become pleasure</p><p>how death could taste like victory on their tongues</p><p><br/></p><p>Their joy in wickedness does not scare me</p><p>it pulls me closer</p><p>it whispers promises I can't turn away from</p><p><br/></p><p>Some call them monsters</p><p>Evil most times</p><p>I call them questions I can't stop asking</p><p>A puzzle with missing pieces</p><p>And I want to chase them till my own hands bleed</p><p>It's not about the blood they spill</p><p>Or even about the horror they leave behind</p><p>It's about WHY</p><p>Always the WHY</p><p>The disturbing need to understand </p><p>what the world turned its back on</p><p><br/></p><p>I study them like a lover studies a scar</p><p>tracing it again and again</p><p>memorizing every rough edge</p><p>hoping to feel the heartbeat buried under</p><p><br/></p><p>And at night when the world is quiet </p><p>I sit screen on with their darkness like an old friend </p><p>Even though I know it should scare me</p><p>It doesn't</p><p>It consumes me </p><p>It feeds a hunger I never knew had a name </p><p><br/></p><p>And still, I dive deeper</p><p>Because there are always more questions</p><p>broken things waiting to be found </p><p>I am not here to save them</p><p>Or to mourn them </p><p>I'm only here to understand</p><p><br/></p>

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