My darling,
my love,
my moon and my stars,

I want you to know
about the little devil
living in my brain.

You haven’t really met her yet,
she’s quite vile and cruel,
and I hate what she makes me do.

You see her in my anxiety,
when I text you far too much,
or call so late at night.

But you haven’t yet seen her
in my depression,
here in my darkest times.

She makes me want to cry,
she makes me want to die.
She tells me that
you don’t love me,
She tells me that you will fly
away and leave me
to my torment.
She tells me that I’m
stupid and ugly and useless,
horrible and selfish and sad.
She tells me to hurt myself,
that I’ll feel better once I bleed.

She tells me that everything
would be so much easier
if I just gave up
and drew my last breath.

She tells me terrible things,
and sometimes,
I believe her.

But now you’re here.
You’re the voice of reason,
my reminder that I’m
not a waste a space.
You muffle her whispers
with your warmth.

So, yes, she’s still here,
and she’ll still fight
to make me quit.

But I know
I can keep fighting back
for you.