The smallest splinter
I can conjure up,
is the biggest thorn
stuck in my side.

Ever wave I see
or wish to hear,
phases through me
like a ghost.

They fed their Demons
with the words they spill.
Unknowingly, they shun
the shadow which lurks.
Apparently a friend,
but nameless, faceless to them.

And even my mind's eye
can't fill the holes
the Princes leave in me.
Conjured by the people
who surround
my ever move.