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  • Writer's pictureIona Stuart

Demons - Poetry

As I’m laying down to bed,

Trying to rest my weary head,

I hear them crawling in the walls;

I hear them screaming down the halls.

My nails dig into my hair,

Clawing and scratching until the skin tears.

Stinging eyes as they close so tight;

Seeing all these monsters, and dancing sprites.

In my mind they taunt me still.

And with visions of horror, my mind will fill.

But suddenly, the sounds begin to fade,

And clasp silent fingers around a blade.

The blade strikes deep into my heart,

Cutting and tearing my life apart.

It seems these demons will succeed,

Plotting and planning this painful deed.

They will leave no tracks, no trail or warning.

This time, I know, I’ll be gone by morning.

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