Inner Demons: Loneliness

My loneliness stifles me.

At times I think about it and it tears my soul apart. It makes me feel small. It takes away all my dignity, and shreds it right before my eyes. At any moment if I try to piece myself back together, it rears its ugly head once again.

I look around at my empty room as it takes me for a ride. It makes my mind swirl.

Am I so bad?

Am I so bad?

This is what I deserve?

I’m so sick of it. I’m so sick of this. I need to stop, but I can’t.

It is so strong. It makes me feel all the things that I never want to.

My loneliness has a voice. Like a sultry seductress. It makes me so afraid. It speaks to me even when I try not to listen. The voice is so strong. It gets me when I least expect it. It wants me. The voice still wants me. Even if I don’t want it.

I can be sitting, alone, and it comes. It opens my door without knocking, and it storms in my life. I try so hard to throw it away. I am too weak. It still comes for me. It takes me. I don’t want it.

Am I so bad?

Am I so bad?

This is what I deserve?

I try so hard to be better. I try so hard to distract myself, but it just waits for me. It is patient. More patient than I. I try to lock my doors. I latch it up. But it always has a key.

Maybe I give it the key. Maybe I let it in. When I have nothing else to do but entertain my loneliness. Its voice resounds in my head. It sings to me. It sings a sad lullaby that I can’t help but listen with every fiber of my being.

Am I this bad?

Am I this bad?

This is what I deserve?

My loneliness speaks, and lets me know how I feel. It is the only one that does. I try to smile to ward it off, but it knows me better than that. It smiles back. I see its sharp teeth and I shiver. It could devour me whole, so I sit and listen to it again. I let it sing to me once again. I don’t complain. I just let it happen until it stops.

It leaves sometimes. It looks back before it lets me go, and it whispers something that I can never hear. But I say goodbye for now, and it goes. I should stop locking my doors. It lives with me anyways.

In the meanwhile, I fill my time with meaningless things. People, hobbies, tv, chats, books. Yet nothing matters. They are simply a filler. Do I even care? Should I? Nothing matters, because it is just a placeholder for my loneliness. I should keep lying to myself. It keeps me awake.

Am I this bad?

Am I this bad?

This is what I deserve?

I used to think I deserved more. I was once that greedy. But each time it visits me it reminds me that material things don’t matter. They were all just a waste of my time. So I indulge myself in it until it comes back.

And it leaves just as quickly as it comes. So that I can never prove it. It is like a thief in the night. Under the cover of the darkness, it comes and it pillages, but then it leaves before sunrise. It leaves my village blind.

This is what I deserve. No matter how good I am.