softly drift away

Softly drift away before the twelfth hour strikes

For it’s then that the demons pick their first of many fights

That last through the blackness, in you implanted lair

Of secret storms silent, conducted all in the upstairs

A stab in the dark – behind a feeble frame

Is the guesswork of the legion driving all insane

Normalcy becoming the greatest tool and lie

The device in which they all subtly hide behind.

The devil inside breathless, clawing his way out

In form of simple silence without yell nor without shout

False form of joy furnishes a simple home

Lonely he finds space for poison to freely roam

With admittance he lives on, nest built grander in the night

His eggs all fallen comrades, nothing left alive

Only the rotten smell known as ‘what could have been’

When child’s eraser traded for ever-permanent pen.


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