some silent fiend
sits on the edge of the bed
to watch me slumber
its mere presence
adulterates the images
that parade across
the back of my eyelids
and it's content to
sprinkle me with
the Sandman's sand
laced with its own flavor
a flavor to cause me
to battle my demons
with shards of porcelain
I shatter with my
fear and anger
these all too frequent
demons that dish out
a taste of hell
with their repetitive
torturous spell
they weave before my eyes
and my only sword
are my very words
to deliver me from this dark
"I will not" echoes in the room
as the fiend is vanquished
with first light
No comments:
Post a Comment