Hand For A Fall – Unhinged Poem 2020TOO

I called a number on the phone,

realised too late no one was home,

tired but not to forget,

but found I could not,

the phone rang back,

no one was there,

it was semblance,

it was spite,

a warrior in the cold,

a sinner in the night,

I called me sinister passenger,

he fought,

he forgot,

pleasure of a million knifes,

digging in my brain,

I called the number again,

and found my words replicating,

as the world saw me insane…

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