Insuccinct crisis

Ba‘al Zebûb rubbing against my soul skin
My mind’s eye plays tricks on my heart
Eyes closed and grey clock ticking
Breath laboured and deliberate

Dead calm

Fingers shake and trembling still
Fluttering brings a pressured smile
Self talk hope and reason tempers
Shiver stabbing sudden reversal

Welcome sleep

Compose my song with the morning
Reflection and time is my nectar
Passed solicitude is learned
Stronger but decay will not zero

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