The Enemy Within

I wake up again,
to another day,
of tiresome and tedious trials.
I'd like to pretend,
that one day I'll say,
that I am calling it quits for a while.

So sadly but true
that day never comes
now I'm a prisoner of despair.
What should I do?
the sad symphony strums,
and no one else seems to care.

Here it all begins,
in the frigid grave,
Where in death I weep and roam.
Again sadness wins,
and I am its slave,
for it has made my body its home.

These tears that shed,
dissipate and scatter,
as they are carried by the breeze.
I must get it in my head
that my feelings don't matter
and inside lies the voice that agrees

Who am I to trust,
if I can't even rely,
on the twisted perceptions within?
Mutiny is a must,
and I must deny,
that my chances are incredibly thin.

I cannot allow,
myself to give in,
to the tyrant that pillages my dreams.
Yet even now,
beneath my skin,
the menace is perfecting his schemes.

He is throwing stones,
from a house of glass,
and the consequence brings no worry.
He'll  take broken bones,
and lacerations in mass,
so long as I am caught in the flurry.

To draw the conclusion,
at low self-esteem,
would be entirely understating.
Its merely a delusion,
and so it would seem,
he is constantly manipulating.

His goals are in reach,
as mine seem to fade,
but what he does not seem to get.
Is that he may leech,
off the mistakes I've made,
yet his only comfort will be regret.

From happiness defiled,
to the pain I had bore,
innocence withered like a rose.
Since I was a child,
I have fought this war,
but it may soon come to a close.

I have nothing left,
for him to drain,
but I will not fall victim to pride.
For the beast is kept,
on a brittle chain,
and lays in wait deep inside.

For as long as I exist,
and my heart beats on,
the war within me may never cease.
Yet I must persist,
for in each golden dawn,
lies the hope that I may find my peace.