By brian francis

I can tell that they are scheming
Talking on among themselves,
Plotting, planning, preconceiving
they’re all against me once again.
I can see their plans unfolding.
Evil thoughts from their evil minds.
Causing all my worldly problems,
Haunting every darkened corner,
Picking at my peace of mind.

You might call it paranoia,
Laugh and toss my cares aside.
You might think me out of kilter,
Off of balance, out of stride.
But I can tell that they are scheming.
Poison food and straps that bind.
Behind locked doors with little windows,
In the secret rooms of torture’s time.

Copyright ©2020 brian francis

Published by

B. F. O'Connor

Born and raised in the idyllic environment of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. A rural paradise perfect for a roving childhood. Now living in the desert southwest, with a flock of parrots, a pigeon, and Three dogs.

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