inner demons (Remove filter)
At The Door
Curled up in the corner
in dead of the night.
Afraid of darkness
and praying for light.
Eyes peer from the ceiling.
Hands reach from the floor.
Hearts beat from the walls
and he stands at the door.
No chemical shields me.
No masquerade hides.
The sweat of my body,
the fear in my eyes.
He’s pounding and pounding
and growing in strength.
He’s ...
Tuesday 13th February 2024 4:10 am
Recent Comments
John Coopey on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
8 hours ago
Yanma Hidayah on Not Every Eye
9 hours ago
Holden Moncrieff on Not Every Eye
11 hours ago
Holden Moncrieff on Better Sight...
13 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on 'What can writers and poets possibly do in the age of Trump, Farage and Starmer?'
13 hours ago
Mike McPeek on Civilities
13 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on EVEN THE OLIVES ARE BLEEDING
14 hours ago
John Marks on EVEN THE OLIVES ARE BLEEDING
15 hours ago
Hélène on Better Sight...
15 hours ago
Hélène on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
15 hours ago