by Cole McNamara / perilpoet

They say it dwells inside my soul,
a desecration of the human race,
interwoven like some ancient scroll.

Draining energy; enacting its toll.
An unholy monster bundled in lace,
they say it dwells inside my soul.

Every move watched; passive parole.
History marked with its disgrace,
interwoven like the ancient scroll.

I plead the Father to take control,
and remove it from my sacred space.
They shout it dwells inside my soul.

Is removal even possible?
Oh, how I yearn for love's embrace,
interwoven like an ancient scroll.

The monster winks in sinful droll,
I think I'll keep him just in case.
They whisper it dwells inside my soul,
interwoven like some ancient scroll.

If you like this piece, you might also enjoy:

• Decline — a Ruin poem about how joy, flesh, faith, and hope all wither in time, raising one last glass to the truth that everything—eventually—must decline.
• The Diddleyes — a Whimsy poem about a many-eyed monster stalking the nonsense nights of Misember, where invented words and occling gazes turn playful language into creeping dread.