Random sad poem with no title

I am, only what I
have made myself
and cannot remove
this feeling of darkness.

My eyes, they are cold,
much more than ice
and nothing can warm them,
not fire. Not sun.

My heart, it is bleak,
and wishes it wasn't.
But grey is it's colour
and speak for all of me.

My soul, stained black,
as night aslways is
and feels nothing
of love or happiness.

But is life worth living
when there are deamons inside your head
and can control your moves
and every thought?

Will I use these traits
for good?
Or wwill they lead me into
something worse than i already am?

Can I escape within death?
Or will the bonds carry with me
tie to me
forever?

I see nothing anymore,
I miss each rising dawn,
my life ebcomes less as
the days drip by.

I have tried to change
but nothing is so real
as the monsters inside
chasing around my existance.

The world is changing
and i cannot follow.
I live only for the day
when i finally die.