Fading…

An internally reflective thing

A ghost of a being

Floating in and out of unlit rooms

No windows

Languishing in Gloom

… and an impending sense of Doom

Maniacal monologues with oneself

Reflecting ruefully to dire depths

On every minuscule thought

Every shadowy suspicion

Every duplicitous desire

Unknown sources obsessively

Spinning the windmills of thought repetitively

Going over each and every little thing

With a fine-tooth comb of paranoia

And a pomade of persecution

To lay my edges with conviction

Assuring me, that now I know

There are no doubts to cloud my thoughts

In dark solitude, I grow