You’d think I’d know better by now.
And yet, here I am again, same place, same dark empty room, same holes inside.
Tears that taste the same in my mouth like they did a year ago.
How could I be so weak? I crumble with just a breath.
What’s the use? How will I ever be of use when I’m here in a grave I dug of my own accord?
People get pushed into theirs. I’m the stupid one, I stepped in willingly.
These monsters they prowl in the shadows of my mind. But wait, I don’t even know if there is light in there anymore.
I feed them myself. I let them thrive. I let them burn me inside.
That is why I feel so pathetic, worthless, stupid, and useless.
That’s why I feel like nothing.
I let them.
Because I let these things eat me from the inside out. And if I don’t stop them, one day I really will be nothing left.
They whisper into my ear, “But we are you, you can never get rid of us. We are a part of you, where else could we have come from but yourself? For we are in your head we have always been.”
Sometimes I listen. I believe. And I fall.
But somewhere else tells me they are nothing but a lie.
I am so much more than these things that tell me of my death.
I am so much more than the demons that lurk inside of me.
I am not weak. I have my own battles to fight just that no one outside sees the blood and the fire and the guns that pierce through every inch of me.
God did not create me as a place for monsters and demons to reside.
God made me for love, for light, for joy.
I have let them in long enough.