Who’s Watching? a poem


Empty courtyards,
whispers of who we once were. Dust and leaves floating as the wind
bounces around these empty walls. I enter alone, the only one here.
Though there’s a camera. Who’s watching through it?
Who pressed record? Should I be scared? I’m the only one left,
yet there’s someone watching. There will always be someone watching. In some desolate chamber,
dressed in maroon robes, goat skull adorning the
wall. Someone is watching. you

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