We’re all wrestling the monsters of our own making.
The wounds that define us.
The demons that rear their ugly head.
Threatening to swallow us in their womb.
What is it we won’t do to evade them?
Just about anything not to confront them.
Fill the voids with meaningless banter.
Drown the screams in a busy din.
Seek solace in any passion or addiction
Fill our searing soul’s hunger with food
Punctuate our aches in the arms
Of retail therapy and coffee
All of these are nothing
But temporary refuges.
With the touch of the traces of time
These monsters become home for us.