Why do I sometimes feel so lost
When even at my kitchen table I no longer recognise the walls decorated in history.
Sometimes I curse the music that ricochets from amp to ear  
For it cannot drown out the sound of my own head
As we sit in an internal silent battle
The voice stirs its last cackle
Its witches brew of smouldering self doubt

When did I start to put so much pressure on myself?
Was it before or after I lost all confidence.
Am I the reason for my own demise
Or the only one who sees me for who I am
Why are some days different
Why.