The silent, creeping thing
Of demonic darkness is
Slow and patient.
Sitting silently and oh so carefully
Unpicking the threads
Of a once brilliant mind.
It's breath is a subtle
Gaseous poison
Enveloping me.
Inhaled awake or dreaming
Seeping into every pore and cell
Of my physical, mental
And spiritual Self.
Until there is no Self left to perceive
By anyone, least of all me.
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