My Demon


My Demon

I've been counting syllables

I count in groups of eight;

Though most find my plight laughable,

My gearshift mind I hate.


"Don't step on cracks," it says to me

With such fervor, it knows

I can't back down or look away;

A puppet giving shows.


Although I pray, I beg and plead,

The guilt just won't subside;

Six million deaths, all on my hands

This demon does confide.


Everyone can see the grip

This monster has on me

Through tapping, counting, organizing

And longing to be free.

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Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

fluffybunniezz’s Poems (10)

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