Poetry

The Hand That Feeds

“My demons never stop trying to tear me down.
But I never stop fighting back.”

My demons aren’t just idle creatures lurking in the shadows. They’re alive, well fed, and rabid. They’ll rip the flesh from your bones before you could even blink. They’re just that aggressive. Sometimes I think, maybe if I try to befriend them, ease their hostility, offer them kindness, then maybe they’d show me mercy. But they don’t.

They never do.

They bite my fingers, or remind me of who I really am in his voice, and once again I’m their helpless little victim. And I fear they’re going to eat me alive one of these days.

© Sarah Doughty
2015

And here I am, years later.
They don’t give up.
But neither do I.

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2 thoughts on “The Hand That Feeds”

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