The Comfrontation

Why do you always chose me? Six billion people to chose from. Yet always, without fail, it's me. Always when things are picking up. You tap me on the shoulder. I look round- you've scarpered like a pup. What is this game you're playing? With my mind, my life, my very being. Your constant poking while I'm praying. Do you delight in vexing me? Don't lie to me. I know you do. When I fail, I see your glee. You cloak me with disgrace. Readily salting open wounds. My self sees me with distaste. See how I am splitting in two? That's you're work. I see you're proud. Your envious spark igniting battles new. Why can't you just accept the truth? That I'm happy with my imperfections. There is no cause for you to be uncouth. I don't want to be lost in your darkness. I never have wanted to be, understand? My sanity you may no longer caress. I banish you from my strife. I like the thought of my life free of you. My back no longer subject to your knife. You've aged my way of thinking too much. I am too young to have gained it, Yet feel as though I've lost my touch. You've no more power to isolate me. My friends are stronger than you. Now go. You are defeated. Leave.