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Disciples of the Devil

a poem

By Moon DesertPublished about a year ago 1 min read
Photo by Metin Ozer on Unsplash

In every gesture and face,

there is a reference to the past,

interconnections with the lost space.

I wonder where existence lies

and where the entrance is.

The old life still wants to live,

while the new life awaits.

A devilish grip emerges

from the shadows behind the thick curtains.

The blood and tears splashed on me

causing anxiety to grip my muscles tightly.

It demands its rights while taking away mine.

So, I must remove the layers that have grown on me

like tree leaves,

depriving me of sleep at the right time.

Only then can I fully relax

and recover from the decades-long

haunting bad dream.

---

Thank you for reading!

inspirationalMental Healthsad poetryStream of Consciousnesssurreal poetryvintage

About the Creator

Moon Desert

UK-based

BA in Cultural Studies

Unsplash

Crime Fiction: Love

Poetry: Friend

Psychology: Salvation

“I write only because there is a voice within me that will not be still.” Sylvia Plath

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