The Restless Poet

I speak into the night,
sheltering in the dark
with ghosts
disguised as shadows.

A grey breath mourns
the castrating suspension of time.
Fear resurrected, as demons flirt
on my inhale, relentlessly hounding
my tormented psyche.

Leaden lips muted, beneath
obscene scars, begging to release
the fossil tongue trapped
under the burdens of stone.

The skeleton beneath the skin
seeking an escape,
a frustrating climax
of confusion and debilitating paralysis,
in the quicksands of hell.