This room of darkness that sits
Upon me, a wretch in fear of myself,
Has nine circles – mirrored windows
That hold no healing reflection.
Instead, conforms letting in the darkness
With all consuming depression
While the voices urge a raw starkness.
This place, neither heaven nor hell,
Holds me trapped and imprisoned
With unlocked doors that will not open.
Nor do they close out the succubi
That screech me into a mad rage
And deafen my ears to your dear cry -
I must do this now; twist upon my last page.
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