What do i write? Of the demons that hide under my skin? Of the spirits that haunt my dreams within? The ghouls that wander when I’m sleeping, singing lullabies, weeping. I’m not alive, I’m not dead but I’m right here, enough said.

Fever dream

Water leaks from the cuts; I try to stop the bleeding, wash the wounds with blood. I wipe my feet with mud and smell the putrid skin, ah! The scent of my soul, decaying within. Ribs protruding through the shirt, fingers adorned with dirt; silence reigns this place, that’s music to my mouth. I stagger…