My demon.

There are demons living in my head 

But he answers to my name,

He tells me stories late at night 

That are messing with my brain.

When I stand before the mirror 

He laughs at what I wear,

The freckles sprinkled on my face 

And the way I comb my hair.

Do the people sitting in the train 

Fight these demons too? 

The kind that makes you doubt yourself 

And tells you what to do.

May be that’s why they never talk 

Because they are screaming inside their head,

And why would you hate someone else,

When you hate yourself instead?

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