In the tangled neurons, misfiring electrical impulses,
the spirits speak.
Whispered voices from darkened dendrites,
hissing orders, threats, accusations.
Ghostly hands reaching out
from memories long buried,
the soul’s regrets and shames
made flesh and bone again.
Figments gain form, spectres given substance,
gliding through neuropathways, weaving delusions,
madness wearing masks of truth.
The walls between realities crumble,
dimensions colliding,
inner and outer worlds merging.
There is no silence, no peace from the torment.
Sleep brings only flickering nightmares,
terrors lurking beneath each REM cycle.
No refuge exists, not in prescribed pills,
therapy couches, white hospital rooms.
The haunting continues.
In this prison of a mind, demons frolic and dance,
feeding on fear and confusion.
They stretch neural networks
into fun house hallucinations.
And somewhere, trapped inside,
a fragment of self screams voicelessly,
desperately trying to reassemble
its shattered sanity.
