Here I sit with my monsters and a ****-eating grin.
          They treat my mind like a playground, with recesses in the shadows of every membrane.

But without these demons to conquer there would be nothing to win.

I've been victim to this darkness, feeling no self worth and masochistic and insane.

That darkness that makes us look at the mirror in appall.

That terrible feeling that starts in your gut, working its way to your heart then ripping and tearing its way
                                            through bone, muscle, and vein.

But I'm sick of running, now I pain pictures of them on my wall.

I embrace feeling of
                  self-consciousness
                         ­                  and pain.

I accept that they walk beside me down every hall.

On weakness these creatures prey,
                         stopping many from standing tall.

They drag you down to self-destruction and try and sweet talk you into a stay.

And when away you try and crawl,
                   they quickly slink back to bay.

And you start to forget about them,
                                                           ­    once and for all.

While in the back of your mind they quietly play.


Everyone has their monsters,
                                                     their demons,
                                                                ­             their skeletons in the closet.

I know I'll never win this war,
                                *but at least
                                                      I haven't
                                                         ­             lost it.