Invest the darkness of your doubt
beneath this thinly-masked disguise;
from hot beds, demon-seeds will sprout
to curse all light, then snuff it out,
and irritate your blinded eyes.
Who purged into the stagnant pond,
this cesspool of your dreaded fears?
A great stain scores its surface bond
'cross tepid waters, well beyond
the point of dumping, through the years.
A black door looms within the mind.
Its shadow cast across your soul.
What terrors have been shut behind,
you dared not open up to find,
for fear of losing all control.
This hollowed hole and burrowed bed,
no comforter could ease the chill.
An ugly shroud adorns your head
to mask the fact you have been dead;
this testament, your stubborn will.
A deeper drop down pity’s pit,
the shaming shackles blame and bind.
Depression drones the tune to wit
O, pining needles, needless knit,
picked locks of hairs, bald hopes can't find.