Self Loathing

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

The darkest thoughts are ever present,

anxiety is a language in which I’m fluent,

nothing makes sense, nothing can reason,

eventhough it has changed so many seasons;

Some try to plant roses of compliments,

but only thorns of self-loathing bloom in my bosom,

because after all we all have our demons,

and mine appears to be quite incessant.