Unwelcome Dwelling

A shadow stretches where the soul once stood, Its voice now mine, though not of mortal breath. It moves my limbs with cold, unholy good— A marionette in service to its death. The mirror mocks me with a stranger’s grin, My eyes are windows smeared with something dark. I scream within, but silence drowns the din, A caged awareness bound beneath its mark. It knows my memories, distorts my face, It wears my laughter as a borrowed skin. My prayers fall flat—no savior leaves a trace When terror speaks with tongues that burn within. Possession is not rage or blood alone— It’s being lost inside your very own.