The Obscure

I stand there on my battlefield. I stand their stock still in the midst of a great destruction. I cannot move, I cannot blink, I cannot breathe, I cannot think. I stand on this great and terrible battlefield in armor made of glass, it's on this field we're born; and we don't leave until we pass. I stand on this great and Glorious battlefield, with my comrades right and left. I see them fighting the demons, them struggling bravely against them. Sometimes one will win, sometimes they will lose, but they all fight. Me, I stand there. I stand poised like a mighty oak, I watch my friends with such strength and valor hold against their afflictions. Me, I'm a different sort. Me, I cannot move. Me, I cannot fight my demons, I've nothing to prove. You see my demons are on the inside, eating away at my guts. They cut at my very soul, destroy my will to trust.

I see my friends battle and see them every day grow more, but me I cannot battle; for I'm a gnarled tree with a rotten core.