The gathering of crows

My minds grasp, for sleep 

tolls heavy on my sanity, as

insidious eyes; pry, their beaks foul 

in the fissures of my mind

fears creep; freed, to be fed upon

to be mantled by the feathered wings 

of darkness 

night-tide rises; the gathering of crows

drags me deep, 

into the belief, of paranoia


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