Unfightable, Sleeping Monsters

Change.
I hate it most in the entire English language.
No matter what form or tense, it still drills the same rusted nail into my bloated brain.
A world of hate and resistance swims around my head.
Why change if everything comes back full circle?
But I still crave its company.

I watched everyone leave me behind as time insisted to continue.
I let my mind run wild in my cold, persistent isolation.
Any and everything that could have been positive burnt to a bloodied crisp.
Why change if everything comes back full circle?
I don’t need to be another slave working toward my salvation.

My saving grace? My extraordinarily constructed excuse?
It dangles over my head,
It dances at my fingertips,
It dines at my feet.
Like misshapen papier-mâché airplanes, it dives in and out of my dreams.
The horrid emotions and deadly thoughts my demons leave in my mind,
It’s all they want me to feel;
All they want me to think.

Sometimes the monster lays dormant,
Sometimes it wants to sleep.
I take the wheel and grip it tight.
I break routine.
I smile.
I am happy.
I encourage Change to hold my hand.
I allow it to allow me to take baby steps to a future.

But then the monster regains consciousness.
It realizes my hopes, my dreams.
It lashes at me, full throttle.
It feeds on my failures.
It never lets me rest.
Day after day, this is who I am.
Worthless inside, hollow outside.
I am a useless figurine used in its game of pure glee.

It sits on my shoulder.
It whispers in my ear:
“Who could love a monster like you?”