The Mad Man in My Attic

There’s a mad man in my attic, and he’s been there for years

I’ve always sensed his presence, but chose not to see him

He keeps me awake at night, stomping and swearing

Causing a ruckus that frightens my loved ones away

I hear his vile chattering through the floorboards overhead, but choose not to listen

Even so, his words find their way to my subconscious mind

Their poisonous import seeping into the darkest corners of my deepest desires

Strangling my hopes and dreams with its sooty tendrils

Infecting my thoughts with anxiety and fear

Panicking, I lash out, flailing my arms at my intangible foe, grasping at smoke

Only to find, when the murk clears, that the mad man in my attic

Is me



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