Ritual

It is at night

when

the demons come

for me.

They prowl

about my bed,

waiting for

weakness

to ooze from my

bones.

Tongues

lap up

harsh fear

like dogs

at an altar

overflowing

with
blood.

I hear their

whispers rattle

deep

through my ribs,

shake the cage,

discontent.

They circle

my soul,

offering temptation,

telling of failure,

cackling a

cacophony

of

hallucinations. 

Deep

shadow eyes
stare into
own,

tell of past,
taunt
of failed
future.

I cannot 

bear

those
eyes.

Shadows

scurry onto

skin,

my eyes
pinch shut

with:

memories                   doubts                                    questions                          hauntings.

I fall through

the cracks

and

am lost.