Who are your monsters? What are their names?

Who are your monsters? What are their names?
Mine come in many forms—
Like scars on my wrist, or an empty plate.
Tear-stained pillows. Cold coffee.
A mind racing through a thousand tasks,
Because if I stop, it feels like I’ll drown.

Tell me—what do your monsters look like? What do you see?
Do you have wounds on your body? Eyes swollen from crying?
Does your mind run wild at night,
Whispering that sleep is dangerous,
That if you rest, you might not wake?

Do we share something?
Do we understand each other’s monsters?
Is there a thread between us,
Woven from silence and survival?

Do you have a demon that haunts you?
That one thing that drags you to the edge,
Sometimes pushing you closer to the fall.
Does it hand you a rope— An easy way out?

Does she whisper, “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay,”
Then scream in your face, “Give up.”
Does she make you fear your own dreams,
Pulling you to the cliff and saying,
“End it. Sign your name. Say goodbye.”

Tell me—what are your monsters like? Who is your demon?
But before you answer,
Here’s a thought:

Look in the mirror.
Tell me—
Who do you see?