New age tragedy

There is a war in my head.

It is as if though my ribs are breaking under the pressure 

of the lightness
of existence
This randomness, which

when added up,

is called

life;
as if though it is something 

you have control over.

There is a war in my head.

And you forget 

the superficiality;
everything
and everyone
is disposable.
But I refuse to accept that.

There is a war in my head.

And the ones that have been to hell,
do they ever come back?
Or are they forever condemned to live with their demons, 

just in different forms each time?

There is a war in my head.
And little does it matter
who wins;
what matters is
how much of me will die
along the way?