Haunted self

Tainted. 

The blight creeps within me. 

Tainted. 

Pity the self which endures the slow unstoppable taint. 

Not a battle but a war. A war with no victory in sight. 

Yet. 

No retreat. 

It’s hands reach for me. It’s fingers, nails filthy with the years of taint, into my brain. 

Piercing, stabbing. 

Intruding.

The Self. 

Screaming defiance, manning the blockades, up, up, onto the ramparts. 

Defend me. 

I see you now. See you for what you are. 

You desire me. 

Make me yours. Reduce me to a pitiful thing. Control me. 

I smell the stench of decay. Your fetid smell. Your vile corruption. 

Embrace me. Hold me. Envelop me in your putrid flesh. 

I hear you. Your insidious whispers. Your odious enticements. 

Shall I surrender ?. 

The Self cries “No” 

Begone you loathsome thing, you despoiler, you abhorrent creature. 

Retreat before me. 

Today this battle is for me to win, not you. 

This war, for it is a war, will go on. 

I know you, oh creature of the dark, you who lurks in the shadows and recesses of my mind. 

I know you, I see your face, I know your smell, your voice is known to me. 

And your name. 

I know it. 

To speak it gives me power over it. 

I will fight it. 

The Self fights on. It will not surrender. 

So, retreat now, detestable creature, retreat to those dark corners. 

Lick your wounds. 

And come once more to battle. 

I know you. You cannot win. You will not win. 

This is MY war. 

And I will see you conquered. 

I name you. 

Depression. 

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