blood stone: a poem

19.08.21

i keep a dagger under my pillow when i sleep to aim at the ghosts under my bed that wait to share alliances with souls that dare to wander before transient stillness or point it at an all-too-familar throat when my mind propels a distorted, videotape of a society that took my goodness for granted, demonic physical dissent. now tell me, to who do i owe my civility? bloodstone under the moon but ferrous inside my gut but do i truly fear combat or in secret, have i been awaiting its illicit wrath?