Turning Tables

The allure of simplicity fades,
For this inner turmoil is complex,
I have no creative release,
Or satisfying means to express.

Like the merry-go-round, I spin,
Feeling a sickness in my core,
For each battle that I lose,
I become more invested in my war.

Pleading for the hiding strength,
To appear in my times of need,
Familiar enemies I am facing,
Those of love, hate and greed.

A cycle of vicious confusion,
Has brought me great pain,
Leaving an unsettling doubt,
To forever stir, and remain.