Demons in my Head

There's a demon in my head,

Every single time I'm in bed.

She answers to my name,

Scaring me like flames,

She tells me stories at night

That slash me and bite.

They are messing with my brain

With its long searing pain,

When I stand before the mirror,

She laughs at what I wear,

The freckles sprinkled on my face,

The colour of my race,

And the way I tie my hair

With all the energy that I bear.

Do the people on the train

Fight this same searing pain?

Do they wrestle with the demons too?

Or is it me feeling them out of the blue?

Do they make you doubt yourself?

Make you tuck yourself deep within a shelf?

Do they tell you what to do?

Turning you into someone you don't want to turn into?

Maybe that's why the passengers never talk

Because of the demon that likes to stalk,

And scream in their heads.

Oh, why couldn't they just be dead?