Where the demons come - A Poetic Practice

Dust blows everywhere the eyes touch
Rubbing at it only make it worse
Stinging down the throat a bad Scotch
No use pretending this is a bad course

The skin burns as the light grabs
You can feel it blackening the skin
Itching you while it's biting like crabs
Eventually it's all going to wear thin

The wind dry like sand paper
Scratching at anything same everything
Through and through tearing like a scraper
Poison in the air like it sing

There is no relief
There is no release
Only heavy and grief
Maybe the end will be peace

Over the horizon the eye gazes
Into the dark abyss of turmoils kiss
Bring forth the dogs in life's mazes
To drive out the demons who you miss.