Say there's a monster in your life. You become its prey, and to yourself, you have become the epitome of weakness. It hunts you down, tears you apart; nothing but a trembling shadow, and a dull, hollow ache remains.
Say there's a monster in your life, but the monster is unwell. Imagine that it battles demons of its own; a war of attrition where they're losing more and more with each passing second. The demons hunt them down and reduces them to the same hollow shell.
Say that they need help, but they won't take it; they won't budge. How do you reconcile the fact that the perpetrator itself may be a victim?
How do you reconcile the instinct to evade, to hide and protect your own wellbeing, and the debilitating guilt and self-pity, the fear that follows? The empathy and the bitterness? The love and the hate, the appreciation and the disdain?
How do you write a straightforward narrative from which you can draw closure, that tells you when and where to direct blame and resentment, whom to hold responsible, what level of culpability to be assigned?
It is nearly impossible to answer these questions when you can't figure out the question who's answer lies directly in your path:
Where does the monster lurk?
YOU ARE READING
Pleasure or Pain? (Poetry)
PoetryI call this my book of chaos; my sanctuary. When the turmoil inside of me resurfaces, when I've surpassed my tipping point, putting my jumbled thoughts and conflictions into words gives back the control I initially lost.
