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.
