The Battle

I am not delusional.
The monster behind the door is alive.
He hunts, he kills, he destroys.
I feel his evil creeping in,
I feel the lies weighing heavily on my shoulders.

The monster, raging and sore,
Fights a battle constantly with my kindness.
The truth becomes ever so clear to a being with nothing to lose.
Beaten down and bleeding, Drunk with anger.
He awakens.

Misunderstood, He yells in pain from the torment he has received.
People scoff and make fun of him.
His eyes blood red with sun.
Unleashed he would explode like a starved wolf.
Ripping and tearing away that which is most sacred.

The Great Agitator is unaware of his wrong doings.
Poking and prodding the beast.
“If it works for me, Why doesn’t it work for you?” He questions.
However the monster lives, not because your path is wrong.
He lives because my path has created him.

An outsider is never understood.
Stop, and look up at the stars above.
The monster is not misshapen or disfigured,
If I do nothing, he will destroy me and you.
If I win, he will surely take a piece of me with him. I will never be ok.


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