What is life other than a period during which we make mistakes, disappoint people, disappoint ourselves. We have hope for the future, yet at times even the brightest ray of hopeful life is sometimes shadowed by a hideous cloud of doubt. We ask the ugliest questions and make the rudest comments not to our enemies, but to ourselves. It's ok because no matter how hateful our worst enemy is, we are worse to ourselves. Our worst enemy. Our arch nemesis. Our closest companion. The downwards tug when we need an upwards boost. Our best friend, there in times of distress- not to pick us up, but to knock us further down. We look at ourselves in the mirror not to better ourselves, but to make a crude jab at our imperfections. Yet what do we do about it? We harbor our own rebellious fugitive. We defend it with our words, actions, our very life. For what? A swift fall from the first blow that falls upon our head. Knock out. Cold and clean cut. Destroyed by ourselves. With our dying breath we renounce, not our internal fugitive, but our world and our friends who denied the demon within us. Demon on top. Angel on bottom. Not even a whisper of an apology , but we take it to our grave. Holding the darkness close to our chest. Thanking it for our bruised and battered well being. "Thank you. I'll die now."