The Sick Moon

The Sick Moon Part 1

The still night is deafening…

Small, brittle fists knock on my skull.

These Insidious thieves won’t leave

No matter how loudly my mind screams.

They drill holes in my head without reprieve.

They enter my brain — and drain reality

To prepare their sinister domain.

I’m driven insane by their whispers,

By their twisted tongues and yellow fangs.

These demons don’t come alone,

Rather, they flock in droves

just in time

          When consciousness

                   and the sick moon align.