My Role

I wipe the moisture from my face and tell myself it's from the rain. So I pick up the pace and try to outrun the pain. The windows are up and I can taste the saline but I refuse to believe what I know is true. I keep thinking I can wipe my slate clean and somehow start anew. 

I know better than to believe the dreams are real yet I can't stop them every time I try to sleep. Feverish and sweating my senses reel as i drift away again twice as deep. 

I slip into the dark abyss of my soul struggling and clawing myself awake. It's not my life; it's just my role in this maddening play my demons make. 

Feed them or starve them I can't decide which one will make them leave me be. I feel them consuming me from inside and realize my demons are what made me. 

The darkness is blinding and the silence is making me deaf. This freedom is binding in this life of living death.