There he lays, waiting for the
To pounce right back into my mind

There he waits, for when I let my guard
Then he creeps back into my thoughts
at night

There he is, always listening and waiting
for the right time
to set me back to that prison

There he waits, with keys in hand
to lock me up, as he’s done so many
times before.

There he sits, in his high throne
so close to my soul that
I can almost smell his vile cologne

He knows he has the upper hand
and waits to play his cards
He knows that I have trouble calling
myself an honest man
every time I let down my guard

He waits, he is patient because
He knows I will fall again and again
But maybe this time it will be different
and I will not feel that pain

Maybe this is the time where I sit
and wait
For him to attempt a coup 
so that I can swing a few
punches of my own

There I lay, waiting for that bastard
to show his face once more
This will not be a repeat of yesterday
or anytime before
It will be a start of something anew 

Published by Beipher

I have been writing poetry since a teenager but did not have the courage to really show it off. It wasn't until I had some tools as I battled depression and mental illness. They are still a part of me, which you will see for yourself. My writing is dark and raw.

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