Demons
In desolate places.
No one seeks
To be oppressed,
Simply suffers
And accepts.
Yes, I digress—
And speak of desert monks
Temptations
And apparitions,
Ghostly voices
On the wind,
Rain with its sadness
and whims,
Damp nights
Clammy with touchiness,
Beautiful women
Made of nothingness.
Then, torn
Between dreams
And confusion,
Being merely human,
Spill
The black ink of despair...
My soul
Too flawed to repair.
