Haunted Lunacy Poetry

The moon, it whispers  such violent things, the devils sonnet, beelzebub sings. Through my window, upon my bed, it’s beams they taunt me, this concert of dread. The sweetest melody  of chaos and fear. For when the moon  whispers, the demons  draw near.

She bewitched the moon, and bid it’s beams drive me mad. Yes madness! that 3am demon that tickles the brain, a desperate longing to be kissed so deeply by her  screams, but alas, only silence rides those beams, those beams In which my very madness  chooses to dwell, every particle  of light so carefully chosen,  chosen to taunt me with the very  essence of her spell. Is she a witch? Is she a devil? No!  I think not, for even they could feel compassion for this tortured soul. So I pace this room, and with tears  I ponder, what is this madness that  shines through that window yonder?  Who’s beams encroach upon my  skin, possessing the flesh and igniting my sin, driving this  weary soul to embrace the ghost,  and succumb to the silence I fear  the most.

5am on the edge of my bed, Praying to a god who  only lives in my head.  A celestial comfort  of delusional lies, this cranial deity ignoring my cries.  Oh how I beg and  I plead for listening  ears to heal all my woes and calm all  my fears, but it’s  5am on the edge of my bed, desperate  for the god that lives in my head. 

All the pretty devils  lined up in a row, each with an empty jar to try and steal my soul. No life behind their  eyes, nor sorrow in their hearts, just claws designed to rend and tear my broken flesh apart.   All the pretty devils  lined up in a row, jars no longer empty, for I could not let them go. 

I lie awake as somber  darkness creeps upon  my flesh, gently caressing my  deepest fears,  upon my mind it does transgress. I open my mouth and try to scream, but only  silence fills this void. A demented nightmare, a lucid dream, a horrid  beast to be destroyed. Oh how I long to once  again be held in the lights embrace, to escape the  monster beneath my bed, To feel the sunlight upon  my face.

The night is cruel with all it brings.  Dreams of devils  from the past, a void from which  the siren sings, a haunting echo, the  witches grasp.   Trembling deep in midnights cradle, rocked ever so gently  by anxieties hands. Sleep a distant and  fading fable, told by a  god with evil plans.