By Manasa Ranganath
In the silence, they stir,
Creeping silently,
Suffocating my mind from corners,
Like a weight pressing on my chest.
A voice barely a whisper,
But it burrows deep, telling me I am nothing,
That I am a facade,
A construct waiting to collapse.
The mirror is unkind,
Reflecting a hunger I can not name,
A darkness in my eyes,
A shadow that threatens to consume,
It pulls me closer,
To a void I cannot control.
Fear grips me cold,
Chains of insecurity tighten,
Dragging me into an endless descent,
Where light fades to memory,And I am lost.
These demons wear my face,
They speak with my voice,
But their laughter chills me,
Reminding me that they are always there,
Waiting for me to break,
Wanting the darkness to take control.
Each word I write,
Feels like a tear of my soul,
An acknowledgement of the shadows,
I can not escape but plea,
A desperate attempt to understand,
The darkness within.
I tremble in this struggle,
Unsure if I am the hunter,
Or the hunt, If the light prevails,
Or if the darkness swallows me whole.
By Manasa Ranganath
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