I inhale, choke a little. The air tastes dirty, or maybe it’s just the smoke. I touch my chest briefly and wonder, for the slightest of moments, if there’s something missing. I shake my head, it’s been too long a fight to think that way now. I’ve taught myself to breath, but sometimes you can’t teach nature.

If I mattered so little, why bother?

I turn over my shoulder and find myself checking for something that never will be there. A friendly smile, a terrifying set of eyes, the lingering touch of shadows that weren’t there. It’s funny: I’ve lived by the coast almost my entire life and yet I find it so rare that I actually appreciate the stars above me, the moon pulling the tides and myself closer to oblivion.

I wear my demons on my thoughts

That twitch in the back of my mind settles in again. It asks me where I think I’m going, if it’s okay to say that, why I did that thing the other night. It reminds me of that embarrassing time I had with her two years ago on the mountainside. They remind me of the greatest failure that led to my downward spiral, that led to my long drives, that brought me emptiness, that made me whole.

No more loose ends, no more regrets

It wasn’t the smoking, that doesn’t do anything but add to them. Drinking only made me think less or not at all, but they waited for me to return. It practically built an empty shrine within myself. I worshipped it daily, to the point that I couldn’t be anywhere else. Swords were useless, there was nothing to cut. And slamming my fists into walls wasn’t going to stop them either; only hurt my chances of using my hands towards a better purpose.

I’m the one who was left alone

I whisper to myself “Get out get out get out” but I realize that’s an echo of past’s voice. I begin to write and stop as I remember more. This time, I had more melancholy thoughts pass by. I buried myself in beds that weren’t mine with women that didn’t care beyond the length of my tongue and cock. The pets were always nice, at least I could share something with them. The worst part is that I always left, because I was left, because time passed knowing I had killed it.

My head rests where my heart doesn’t

No demons, mistakes, past choices, old loves, none of these things can be fought off. You can’t kill them (though you’re welcome to try). You can’t forget them, they won’t let you, it simply isn’t allowed. You must accept them as they are, look at what they taught you, what they gave you. You must forgive yourself for not doing enough, for not doing the right thing. It is not a sword that slays our darkest parts, but an open hand towards the future that reaches towards your next step. Towards something better, something whole.

Not all demons are fought with swords