What is suffering?

I don't know when I wrote this.

Each day I face these demons with their flesh-rending teeth,

I rise and draw my blade and labour to return them to the land beneath,

They are infinite in their number,

And relentless in their hunger,

And I am alone,

Clad only with the armour of my willpower,

And armed only with the weapons of my righteous intention,

And I fight regardless of the fact that in the end, they will always devour,

It is what they do,

It is their purpose,

It has been said that only in life's harshest times,

Have artists produced the finest rhymes,

Only in the most troubled strife,

Have canvases been truly brought to life,

It may indeed be suffering that is our greatest inspiration,

But remember that there is always suffering in hibernation,

For suffering is of our own creation,

And I have no inspiration