The Basement


Their steps. Their steps.
The up the down
They grab my mind the Demons do.
The locks They rattle no defense against the urges.
Their whispers silent to all but me
Calling out Let go! Let go! Let go!
Fighting, winning a day. Fighting, losing a week.
Giving in to the urges.
Warm so warm the feeling familiar.
Comfort as if maternal.
Open to all the possibilities.
Reveling in the release and
The illusion of choice in the urges.
Release so sweet to Incubus
Release transforms to Succubus.
There's no one else but me and my leviathan Deviants
To help me wallow in the urges.
Relief brings on waves of clarity.
Guilt's strength tosses Fiends down the steps.
Mental chains double wrap the door
And locks close in the urges.
But time, simple time fuels the Tempters
Who prey on the weakest of men.
The locks They rattle
No defense against the urges.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem