I am under attack.
The noises assail my mind.
Blinding my eyes and deafening my ears.
The demons have struck.
A brooding storm trapped in a sky,
A fly stuck on flypaper,
Doom is waiting to happen.
What will be the result?
As I inch forward,
I'm pulled down,
Blown across the landscape like a tumble ****.
Weak as a tumble **** is,
I
Don't want the one to be trapped
With no escape.
But slowly,
Pushed back again by the fiends
With knifes, threats, and memories,
I retreat into a corner.
"Back! Back! GO AWAY!"
But they come closer,
Laughing.