In the corner of my mind she resides, large heavy cloak, dark, deep-set eyes—a constant reminder
Her inky black clothes spill easily, if I let them, onto the surface of my brain, poking holes in every piece of light—a continuous stampede of darkness
Her permanent residency is the corner, but like a virus, she’ll spread, if I let her
So
I fight
fight for the light with every piece of virtue and faculty inside, knowing I am more than just her
I call for back up, I write, I work, I clean
for a busy mind is my only weapon.
