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Demonic Despair
The whooshing of threadbare curtains cuts through deadening silence,
while shadows on the wall toy with a hermit's sanity.
The graze of unseen, jagged fingernails scrapes against sweaty flesh,
injecting poison into subcutaneous tissue,
unwieldily setting the stage.
A heaviness of humid, stale air presses down on compressed lungs,
as maniacal laughter bounces off cracked ceilings.
Buzzing flies circle, swooping down
just to taunt—then vaporize into nothingness.
Muttering voices cling to the inside of a failing cranium,
overtaking a discarded soul, slowly stripping away morality.
Irises blacken, then return to sapphire, before blackening again.
Sitting, rocking back and forth with arms wrapped around legs,
speaking in tongues—
the transformation has begun.
A shattered will; possession seems inevitable.
Fighting feels increasingly hollow.
The smothering venom accelerates.
Chattering crescendos
until your body becomes complete chaos,
and what's left of your soul is trapped within a cage,
locked deep inside the pits of demonic despair.
Copyright ©
Sara Jama
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