Gene Gary

Custodian

In solitude I hear voices,
whispering,
demonic.

A mumbling,
that which my innocence can not decipher,
a frequency,
a pattern,
a code.

I am invited, 
needed,wanted... 
desired.

Sleep takes me,
I hear them clearly now.

They speak of terrible deeds,
and in my struggle to wake,
they force me to sleep.



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