Comfort

oh! how my demons rage. they howl and scream, and always seem to get what they must crave. i stand a child before the storm, plastic sword in hand. to fight the fight i cannot win, to make another stand. and every day, in every way, was harder than the last. how melancholy this life is, when drowned amidst my laughs...i stand a child, before the storm, and hear my demons call. what good are prayers and teddy bears to little boys at all...