Vulnerable Times

 What mysterious ways,

For the demon to conjure me, 

In the silence, so dreadful,

Aided with the afternoon warmth.

I watched the birds fly,

Shift the colors in the sky,

My mind sulked into a boredom,

Which my might couldn't fight.

Are there greater sins any,

Than harming one's own self?

For I heard the demon,

Who asked me to sit by;

Stare at this vulnerable 'I'.

It pulled me to bed,

Lie there; dull as dead,

And watch the afternoon pass by,

That seemed convenient; wasn’t right.

After long years have passed,

I have forgotten the scars,

Yet again what went a good day,

Why am I being pulled back to angst?