Demons on the perimeter
stalking serenity’s
unsuspecting bliss.
Is this all that's left?
Once mighty defenses
now offer little protection
against these ancient,
clawing phantoms.
Shadows lurking
in the forest of the
psyche, await nightfall's
indifferent embrace
Alas my redeemers.
Tiny painted disks
that beat back
reality's assailants
while extinguishing
the last threads
of creativity that yet
remain.
The strain on tattered
nerves almost too much
to bare
I care not what punishment
is wrought from these efforts
to remain sane in the light
of an unforgiving God.
My mind is mangled beyond
repair.

Who is there left to call 'friend'?