Illusion

The lull questions my answers.

The dark wrings out my fallacy.

And I hear the lone bird screeching in the middle of the night,

Seething wounds on the wing,

The cold a choking blanket, a fatal lullaby.

 

The setting of the sun brings the demons out alive.

 

And ever time, I give in.

And every single time I fall.

 

© That Girl in the Fray, 2016. All rights reserved.

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