Sometimes it IS a full-blown war
To battle the demons deep inside
That when they are not bothering to hide
Would circle you into an always waiting flame.
But usually it’s just a minute battle
That keeps the world from seeing
The maelstrom beneath the surface of your calm;
A simple reticence,
Inertia as a Band-Aid to your being,
Would wants to shout his pain into the noisome world,
The only world his mutilated eyes can see.