The Beast

Frustration eats away at me
nibble by nibble.
I try to do the right thing,
be a nice human being.
Often to my own detriment.

Accused of being “too nice,”
“gullible” and even,
occasionally, “stupid.”
It seems my destiny
to give and give and give
until I’m all used up.

Resentment takes the place
of kindness and helpfulness,
settling comfortably in their old home.
It feeds a dark, bitter, cynical beast
no one knows about.

But I feel it growing,
gaining strength
inside me.
It makes me yearn for
pain, my own pain,
the kind that forces tears
and completely empties
my very soul.

Tame the beast
with whatever tools
you claim mastery over.
Pull it from within me,
but be prepared for a fight.
It has made the once
happy place of kindness
it’s war-torn home.
It has become comfortable
and I have become its slave.

Free me from the darkness.
Be my shining light.
Pull this cancer from me.
Free me from the frustration,
I beg it, please.

Then leave me as a carcass,
covered in welts, stripes and bruises
bathed in salty overflow.
A shadow of my former self.
Leave me to heal
and become myself again.

I’ll recover. I always do.
But why? It’s a never ending loop.
We will be right here
all over again soon.

Depression is an ugly beast.
I have come to recognize it
and live with it cordially
most of the time.
But when it finds something to feed on,
and becomes bigger than me,
thats when I struggle.