Every day is pain. Every day I wake up and I have no idea if it will be a good day or a terrible day. And even if it's a good day, there's always the fear that the good day will end, and a new terrible day will begin. Existence is pain. All I do turns to nought. I try my best for weeks, and then one day can throw all I have built into ruin. One sentence can undo weeks of work, one word can irreversibily damage the foundations of something you treasure, something you have striven hard to build. All that toil, all that sweat, blood and all those tears turn into dust, and nothing is left. Every day I hope to improve, every day I hope to endure. Weeks go by, and things look bright but it's all worthless, for when the demon returns, there is no escape. A war rages on every day in my mind, sometimes I win, sometimes I sway the tide of battle for weeks but the enemy eventually overwhelms me. The human is possessed, and the demon triumphs. When all is rubble, the devil flees, it laughs at the destruction it has wrought and left the human in me to rebuild. And the human does, he rebuilds, he tries his damn hardest to repair all the damage, to clear the rubble, to construct anew what the demon has ruined. But once the walls are up again, and they seem stronger then ever, the demon returns and his host is greater and more powerful than I could have imagined. And it wreaks havoc and death and destruction again. Chains are broken, love is lost and the demon plays upon the ruins of the old world, until he is bored and moves on again. And yet, no matter what you do, no matter how much you shore up your defences, he will be back, and he will triumph again.