By T.L. Coston
A plague, I say, this tormentor of mind and thought
This darkness whispers transgressions; inconsequential rot
He caresses my brow; evoking distant slights
Exhuming memories entombed, forgotten … cast-off.
Thief! Raider of sepulchres! Ghoul feeding off misery and discontent!
You prey upon my conscience with soulless intent
This drip, drip, drip laced with a Chinaman’s laugh
Provokes self-recriminations; embarrassing gaffes
Alone, in restaurants, in public places
Your touch - your evil doesn’t discriminate
A flash, a cry, then a subtle glance
Hoping and praying no one heard my penitence
Pedestrians startled by this damnable quirk
Pick up pace and disappear with furtive concern
Oh, you enjoy making me look the fool
A madman one step from the rubber room.
Drip, you’re a monster, be thy named
I firmly declare, you will not win at this game
Though you may haunt taped corridors,
My sanity firmly bars that cursed door
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