Torment.

The ghost it haunts me but not outside
the fear it taunts me from the inside
every corner of flesh it hides, and every
moment it grows I die.
Nothing left but sorrow still
choking down another happy pill
I find myself a creature of torment
living in a glass house the devil feeds dormant
sleeping like a child peaceful and innocent
as the growing pain becomes quiet decadent
living in fear being haunted by a demon
the ghost that it brings only responds
if you mean it. Nothing to do
but keep with the living the ghost its inside and it
keeps on repeating
the lies that it holds forever misleading
so close to the truth you begin to believe, yet its fleeting.
No answers come when you call out instead
the voices scream louder inside your head
you’re falling, you’re dying, and you’re not quite fit for this bed.
The ghost that haunts me, living in flesh, the ghost that taunts me
never pays rent, for the space that it occupies and all that it uses
it takes and it takes, it uses and abuses.
The ghost that’s inside me, it eats me away, the flesh from my bones
it turned to decay. Here I lay dormant and afraid; the doormat, the replaceable,
the victim, and the saint.

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