Voices

By Bud Koenemund

The voices are always louder at night;
When I’m alone; vulnerable to their
Influence; criticism which ignites
Self-doubt and –hatred; heightening despair.
Too oft’, these condemnations seem substance:
“You’re not worth affection.” “Who could love a beast?”
“She’s out of your league.” “You have no chance!”
“Why try?” “Just give up, and accept defeat.”
The enemies inside grow insistent –
A treason battering weak defenses –
Overwhelming what little resistance
I can offer to protect my senses.
   How does one combat a mind seditious;
   Obscuring reason with thoughts malicious?

It Comes at Night

By Bud Koenemund

It comes at night, when I am defenseless.
Black and amorphous, lurking beyond sight;
Yet crushing: enveloping the senses
In fear. Doubt paralyzes, inviting
A surrender I would willingly give.
This unnamed dread – spirit malicious –
Abuses intellect, holding captive
Reason as my own mind becomes seditious;
Left vulnerable to shadows and ghosts –
Specters of depression which mock defeats,
Real or imagined, while I suffer; lost
As thoughts betray: embracing light’s retreat.
   Despair creeps, growing stronger in this gloom,
   Enticing me ever closer to doom.