My demons

Unable to stop myself, 
I slowly roll up the black door

... cut by foreboding ...

like the scent of old death, 
newly discovered.

Here they all are, my demons, 
ranged darkly against the walls, 

dangling crookedly, 
or crouched blackly in corners.

They leer and cackle, creak to life.

Abject terror makes my knees jelly,

and my heart pumps futile denial

All the world's pain and suffering...

The stain spreads, subsumes me.

I swoon in decay's embrace,

as my familiars take hold - 

Sucking greedily at the teat of my soul.

Privately, we dance.

Privately, I die.


© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)

Branches reflected in lake at Daylesford © Jennifer Phillips