The Man Behind the Monster

by The ink stained poet

"In the end, we followed two different roads of our own making. You, a loving family... Me... a crooked empire. And my world burned." Addiction doesn't kill the addict. It kills those around him. The innocents. The 'vermin' that stand in the way of the monster's path to power. It kills and it kills and it kills until there's nothing left. Nothing but regret.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Bendy and the Ink Machine. All rights go to the members at The Meatly Games.

The Man Behind the Monster
The ink stained poet.

A glorious monster. The crooked creator.
A magnificent beast. The corrupted traitor.

Blood-stained hands. A soul warped by sin.
The brandings of blasphemy scarring his skin.

A heart corrupted by burning hunger and greed.
A thirst for the finest. A sickening need.

A longing for victory. A craving for power.
A thirst to make all of those before him cower.

Willing to sacrifice everything for his sadistic cause.
Willing to gamble his life for the drug of applause.

Overdosing on success, lust roaring through his veins.
A dose of pure pleasure that resides by the pain.

A concoction of addiction and filthy desire.
Tainted with the taste of a twisted empire.

Attention is his poison, such a sweet, intoxicating drug.
Each shot of the venom embraced like a rapturous hug.

Wrapped in the comforting arms of his habit.
Giving into the poison, becoming an addict.

Soulless eyes flicker with slaughtered hope.
A broken, bitter failure using his anger to cope.

Unshed tears glimmer with the illustration of life.
Whispers of incompetence twisting the knife.

Underneath the imitation of a wide, cheery smile
Is a cold, shattered soul, spiteful and defiled.

Skin marred with disappointment. Losing all control.
The grinning monster within slowly taking its toll.

Binding his mind to the rusty chains of his cell.
Dragging him down to the deepest circle of hell.

Whispers grow louder. Sanity slipping from his hold.
Leaving the soul rotting inside him empty and cold.

Success turned to silence. Applause turned to spite.
Unable to distinguish what's wrong from what's right.

The devil within, growing more powerful with each day.
Ridding the vermin that dared try stand in his way.

Sacrifice after sacrifice. Damning another soul to a grave.
Maddened by the power the grinning demon so craves.

The coffins stack up. His kingdom cloaked in dismay.
The world he created falling to the hand of decay

Until there's nothing left of a once grand empire,
Nothing but the dull flint of a long vanquished desire.