WARNING: This poem contains references to depression and anxiety, and may disturb some readers. Discretion is advised.

It always comes

When I least expect it;

Misfortune is never convenient.

It's always there.

I can hear its voice,

The demon inside me,

Gnawing at my heart

With its unholy whispers—

Never good enough

Never good enough—

It's not something

That can be exorcised

(Believe me; I've tried)

I've learned to live with it

But not suppress it

(That's when

Things get ugly)

When the demon howls,

Everything falls into

Oblivion;

I wallow in my darkness

And don't even try to leave.

The world becomes

Dark, hostile,

The demon's insidious poison—

Your friends hate you

You are not welcome anywhere—

It corrupts everything

I say and do.

Sometimes I can resist,

Know its words are blasphemy,

But sometimes

I only have the strength

To ride it out

Knowing (or hoping)

The painful current

Will eventually subside.

My heart pounds in my chest

From ephemeral dangers

That the demon creates from nothing.

Nothing—

No food, no sleep, no distraction—

Is enough

To make the demon go away

For good.

What escape can I get

From this madness,

From feeling at all?

With every curse

There is a blessing.

Sometimes I wonder

If the demon inside me

Is also my muse,

Pushing me forward

And dragging me down,

The divine inspiration

Rattling in my head,

Scattering my thoughts,

And sending my being

Into pure overwhelm.

The demon and the muse

Both offer an escape:

To pour my soul

Onto paper,

A floodgate to my emotional river,

So I don't spill over

And drown out all the

Beauty of life.