Killing the spirit

It feels like I'm killing something.

Something that has been living and breathing for the best part of 2 years. I started off trying to starve it. It would lay in the other room in my bed, I could hear its hungry wails echoing in my mind. I wanted to feed it, but I couldn't. I knew that if I fed it, it would grow. That was what I was afraid of.

Sometimes my sanity overpowered me and I would look, and see its neglected, beautiful form. I gave it enough to keep it alive, but I would always turn my head in shameful grief.

Yesterday, as it looked at me pleadingly with deep soulful eyes, I plunged my dagger into its heart. I will always remember the silence that followed. It shall haunt me for the rest of my days.

It's pulse is still faint, and I must turn and walk away before I inflict any more pain.

So here I sit with blood on my hands, knowing that one day they will be clean. And I have already recieved a punishment which far outweighs the crime. I pray that despite my sin, I shall be able to know this spirit again.