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The passive whispers bounce back and forth,
Like a superball thrown by a careless child.
"Who are you?"
"We are your demons."
"Why am I scared?"
"Because you should be. Or perhaps,
Perhaps it is the fear of the unknown.
But you know us, Booh."
"Are you going to hurt me?"
"We do not need to hurt you, but we will be your death.
We will be the final nail in your coffin
And the unspoken, passive bystander
At your funeral."
"If you aren't going to hurt me how are you going to do that?"
I'll never forget the cold, hushed whisper
Caressing my soul to sleep.
With it's cold, indifferent tone
Wrapping it's monotonous syllables
Around my mind.
They whispered,
"Because you will do it for us."
-MNDFL
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