It's late at night again, and you're still awake. Do you hear him?
Hovering around you like mist-thick sin.
He whispers and cackles, sending shivers down your spine.
You tell yourself you're being silly and everything is fine.
But is it?
Why is it always there?
The whisper in the wind, the footstep behind you on the stair.
The breath on your neck, the creek of your bones, moving as if they were made of stone.
Thoughts swim around in your head like fish in a tank, for once wishing that your mind was blank.
He plants them there, they grow like weeds. Causes you tournament from which it feeds.
An expanse of nettles, of which he's the gardener. Mind broken like a pencil without a sharpener.
A notebook in dense lead, lacking a highlighter.
Forced to write something without that which makes it brighter.
And it's him.
It's always him.
The tap on your shoulder,
The shadow on the wall,
The voice that echoes unheard by all.
He has a place within us, without permission to stay.
Yet he remains, and with our minds he plays.
Twisting it, contorting it, making us question what's true. Changing the reality we thought we knew.
To him it's fun, it's tricks, a game.
What is he though?
He has many a name.
The shame
The blame
The eternal flame
The tyrant of your mind you wish to reclaim
Born from the anger, the fear and misery.
All of the things we hate so bitterly.
He swirls in a void burrowing deep in our soul. Eating what he can, and leaving a hole.
He is not welcome here, nor should he be. So many people just want to be free.
From the pest in their mind, the demon, the parasite.
We work to rise up, and win the fight.
Away from his bite
The fright
The blight
To one day break free, and feel the light.
