If existence were a hall with countless paintings on the walls,
Each brush stroke a moment of happiness, anger, strife,
We would all travel forward, for the door at the other end calls,
Inviting us to take in the beauty that encompasses life.
Most minds would wander in tranquil stride,
Past the marvelous depictions of emotion, thought and belief.
But trailing behind me, a shadow at each side,
Skulk my companions: the Chaos and the Thief.
Each demon takes a turn to dance in the light,
Leaving only destruction in their wake.
In confusing moments the Chaos and the Thief fight,
Each struggling for dominance while my brain threatens to break.
Shrouded by dense fog, the Thief wears darkness as his cloak,
And his footsteps' dull thuds pound in my ears.
He carries a bindle filled with the fragile happiness he broke,
The last time he drowned my soul in my tears.
He walks closer to me the vast majority of the time,
Chained to my ankles like a cinderblock dragging through dirt.
I grow so tired, s