I don’t know what to title it

I don’t know what to title this piece of writing.
It feels like a suicide note, but there’s no way it could possibly be such a thing.
But I do hate the demon.
The DEMON.
Always lurking.
Maybe it’s a homicide note.
DEMON must die.
Doesn’t make sense.
It’s inside me.
It is me.
I made it.
It’s mine.
So what do I do?

There’s a certain pain to it.
Like a sickness.
Chronic.
Always there.
Always lurking.
Sometimes fine.
Sometimes nasty.
Sometimes nastier than most.
So, how then?
Who then?
What do I do, then?

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fishify

Writer of short fiction, poetry, and editorials.

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