As soon as I try to go to bed,
Wicked thoughts dance,
Into my head.

Whispers at first,
Growing fast,
they fill me with dread.

To my possesors,
I wildly shout,
"Begone foul demons,
I cast thee out."

"I am my own master!"
To which they reply,
"Of that, there is no doubt."

In my confusion,
these voices I seek,
for if I listen long,
some truth they may yet speak.

They lie and they tease,
till I am begging,
down on my knees.

"Why do you torment me,
and fill me with fright?"

The voices then spoke a simple truth,
words I believed without need of proof.

"To break you believeing,
only in your sight."