The darkest hour.

It's gnawing at me, eating me alive. That little tiny insect that has infected my pysche, re-arranging everything I have ever worked hard on. Erasing and rewinding. No matter how many perfections there can be, that little manical voice will always be there telling me that I am just not good enough. Something I am doing is wrong. So, I will inhabit my soul for days looking for an answer to why I am so upset and there never is one and if I do find an answer by the time I do find it that putrid, manifesting blood-sucker has already gotten to it. So, I lay there waiting because without something or someone to look foward to in life, it's just not worth living, eh? When I am laying there sometimes I will turn over to stare in the mirror and when I do I sometimes see a lone tear traveling across my face and I wonder, who is it this time? Me or