They come for you-
in old fashioned hats,
from where you don’t know,
to fuck you hard against every wall
you’ve built up.
They know how to pick all your locks,
break through your firewall,
blocking all exits.
Out of mirrors in small rooms with
flickering televisions they stare into your
flatness outlined in twisted sheets.
You give them food and wine,
trying to appease them.
You smoke with them, but they never mellow.
They’re like gods of a certain kind and
know all your devices.
Imagine what they’ve cost you in
Priests, lovers, advisers?
They’ll come for you and
they never stop coming
until you die, or
they die in you.
But, maybe there’s
something else wrong,
besides
them
Tony Walton is a Caribbean writer living in the Cayman Islands and his works have appeared in Storyteller Magazine, Moonkind Press, Whisperings Magazine, Mountain Tales Press, Out of Our Magazine, Poetry Bay Magazine, Burningword Magazine, Wilde Magazine, Nite Writers Literary International Literary Journal, Avalon Literary Review, Iceland Daily, East Lit Literary Magazine, Boston Poetry Magazine, Eunoia Magazine, and Olentangy Review.