The things I cannot see plague me

Out of the corner of my eye

I still cannot see them

Haunting the crevasses between thoughts


The voices in my head speak incessantly

Telling me to do strange things

Sometimes I cannot refuse them

But I always wish for silence


The monsters wearing my skin venture out

After the sunset and the moonrise

The allow me not to sleep

They allow me not to truly be alive


Tell me – do these things make me crazy?

Or am I crazy

For doing nothing about them?


Context: The picture is of a plague doctor from back in the times when they had the Black Death and such.

3 thoughts on “Plagued

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