From the outside I look normal.
Just like anybody else you would see.
Unless I take off my shoes and socks.
Then you will see the scars that I’ve made.
It’s obvious they weren’t an accident.
All lined up in a row, and all over my feet.
But the truth is you still aren’t seeing me.
No, you are seeing one half of me.
The other half lives inside, and it is a monster.
A snarling vile beast, dripping saliva, craving blood.
It tears into my good half relentlessly.
Chases it from corner to corner in my mind.
When it catches it, then the thing takes over.
That is when I make the scars. When I’m weak.
When my willpower is down and I’m tired of running.
Suddenly I turn around and find myself staring.
Looking deep into the dark black eyes of my demon.
Mesmerized, and then suddenly, ensnared by it.
Once caught I give in to the darkness, for a while.
Then I remember the light and I fight to break free.
These last scars were deep, the trap tricky.
There are going to be consequences for me.
I wonder what will happen now.
I am frightened by the uncertain future.
Yet I have to keep moving, and going.
So I carry on, looking normal, but battling.
An endless cycle, getting caught, escaping.
I might be winning, or losing.
You wouldn’t be able to tell.
Sometimes I can’t tell.
I look normal, but I am not normal.
I am half a person, tormented by his other half.
So it has been and will be. Me and my monster.