Wishing well confidential.

I still can't help it. Bad mindsets, good intentions. The little sentences, words exchanged, they get in, bite their way through, claw their way into my head until I'm sitting feeling doubtful. Cold, wrapping myself in false warmth, the demons push the heat away until I'm icy and melancholy, self-doubt swirling around every thought. It envelopes the good, the happy memoirs and the feelings of power or better-than. Money spent on copy-cat collectives, money spent on confidence, these demons waste it all. Every inkling of failure unearths itself. Every instance of losing, and every example of how you won, it wraps around these thoughts and pushes itself further into darkness.