Necromancer

Halfheartedly, I mull through all the banter

Playful back and forth; internal exchange

Tete-a-tete, tripwired, becomes my cancer

I wear the wool of ghosts; onset, mange

*

Not wizard-worthy, at best, an inept enchantress

My words raise the dead while the living sleep

Put to bed the doubt, tucked in a bloody mattress

But each faith sown compels reapings sub skin deep

*

Tiptoeing round my conflicted unrested spirit

Won't change the dialogue, all clashing chatter

Me against me, light contra dark- dark earns merit

I've paid all dues, still, a charmer's pockets get fatter

*

A plea for help, a spell for this restless one, please

Might someone cure me of my self-inflicted dis-ease