The Dragon's Voice of the Darkness.

The Dragon's Voice of the Darkness.

I thought I'd gotten away from this. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was trying to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe it was trying to be positive instead of negative. Or maybe it was self-delusion.Maybe it was just another sick joke that I am yet again the butt of. Maybe it was yet another facade in itself, another lie only I am living. Whichever it was, and whatever the reason, it doesn't matter anymore, it doesn't make a difference. It has all come crashing down, it has all become revealed, its all over.
That which I thought, maybe believed, definitely hoped, and desperately prayed had come to happen, indeed, had not.
The monster is back, under my bed, in my closet, in my head.The voice that sometimes whispers--mostly screams--to stop.
Stop being the butt of this joke, to stop living the lie. Stop feeling, thinking, trying, breathing, living, being.
This black hole, this life-sucking, vacant, aching emptiness. This suffocating, haunting, drowning, crushing blackness.
This desire, this overwhelming need, to lay down and close my eyes for the last time, to sleep and never wake.To never be rendered helpless again, to never experience total desolation again. To never ask myself why I keep going, why I keep picking myself back up, only to be knocked down again, why I keep stepping up to the next slice of the blade, why I keep moving forward, when I know rock bottom still awaits to be reached, and even then, there's always farther to fall.Why, when there's always more of me that can be stolen, more of me that can be sacrificed.Why, when there's always greater pain to endure.
I thought, maybe believed, definitely hoped, and desperately prayed, I'd finally slain the dragon, silenced the voice, eradicated the darkness from within me.Conquered it, once and for all. It has returned, if it was ever truly gone, which I no longer believe.
I have failed again, which should in no case come as a surprise.I doubt now that the monster will ever be conquered fully, or completely cease to exist, that the voice will ever be totally silenced.
Which begs the question once again, as to why I do what I do.