The sun rises and with it the fight begins, kicks and blows rain hard as I catch my reflection and see the futility of my existence staring back at me. 

This is my war. 

There will be no peace talks with my adversary, she dwells inside, stubborn, unmoved by my suffering, mocking the medication meant to silence her being. 

She is glass shards. 

She is the shrapnel of my past, forever deeply embedded in my tired future. 

She is hatred of my very self. 

She claws at me with sweet suggestions, whispered screams of unending torment, temptation to cease being burns at her core as I am drawn blindly to her flame. 

There is no ceasefire, no peace in which to dwell, no escape from the constant hum of her displeasure. 

She is me, I am her.

Our silent battle as old as time.

I see her watch me through tear filled eyes, her hatred bristling at my smile as she sings of my flaws and tosses all hope to the ground to shatter irreparably.

She is mine. I am hers.

We dance in time to sympathetic looks and tired sighs as loved ones speak of self indulgence and stiff upper lips.

She will be, that I may not.

She will not be silenced.