At War with Myself

There is no winning 

in this war with myself


Weapons drawn from every direction

gun loaded

bows ready

waiting, just waiting


I stand between them

broken and torn

role-playing the target

and the executioner


A part of me will die

and I must do the honors

but I can’t

for I always see both sides


And so I remain there, in the middle

stagnant in growth 

and drowning in indecision

while the world moves on without me


There is no winning

in this war with myself.

This poem is about: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741