Dining with the demons still
Feeding on troubles, at random, at will
Holding back an influx of truth
That what you think
Is best subdued
My brethren, my sisters, my loved ones, myself
Crazed beings from hell
With a curve on their lips
Whether up or down
Or inside their mouth
Does it really show truth?
Can it really foretell?
When all is said,
What is ‘well’?
Does anyone know?
Or is knowledge a shell?
A covering, barrier
To lock one away
To close down the doors
To pretend that you're safe?
But nobody’s safe, even on the inside
For danger is there
And it’s mingled with pride
So shielding yourself
Will do you no good
The monster, the creature, you know that you are
Is tired of waiting
Is bored, craves the kill
That comes from allowing itself in this world
Because in this world
Circular and full
There is a place for your monster, for it’s thoughts, for it’s soul
So don’t be afraid of the roaring outside
In the end, you will face it
One step more,
Don’t fret
Don’t regret
And never, ever hide.
YOU ARE READING
Dining with the Demons Still
PoetryI was inspired to write this poem, as of late, by my experiences with mental illness. Nowadays, it seems as if I can never escape. I was really unhappy. Words came out and this poem was formed. Anyhow, I would love any comments or critiques. Thanks.
