Sometimes- in the place where the inner child should be- it feels like there's something else. Some perhaps child-like, but not so human. Something Other. With non-human desires, non-human dreams, and aspirations not fit for mortals.
Sometimes I wonder, when I die, if this piece wall crawl out of my corpse like a cockroach- Too persistent and stained to ever be put to rest. I believe its a contamination of my soul- or perhaps that Thing is my soul itself.