it comes as a million soldiers, but as one army,
in every miniscule atom that makes me
me
and every breath I take is taken at the tip
of each sword

it makes every second feel like
an eternity spent in Hell
it burns,
and each small eternity spent still alive
is a terrible waste

it’s a feeling with no particular preference
for any one flaw,
it doesn’t discriminate against me,
except against all of me

it’s the thing that shatters every relationship
I manage to build,
it’s what whispers to me at night,
saying,
you’ll never change

it’s what strenghtens every disgusting,
vile,
depravity inside of me,
and promises a lifetime of what
I deserve

it gnaws at my self-pity, and spits it out
in disgust,
it denies me solace in any kind
of grace,
and eradicates my will

it’s the disease of which I’m fully aware, a
parasite
that I nurture and feed,
a monster

and with every moment of clarity that comes
in moments like this,
I also know that I could stop it,
and defeat my army

but it's impossible to even try, for I
will not change,
and without me it would never exist,
this self-loathing